


Season 1: Ascension

by DildoFaggins



Series: Arrogance Ill Begets [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Bisexual Harry Potter, Dark Harry Potter, Disturbed Harry Potter, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Modern Seven Kingdoms, Multi, Overpowered Harry Potter, Parent/Child Incest, Rituals, Sibling Incest, Smart Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 81,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15775626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DildoFaggins/pseuds/DildoFaggins
Summary: He brings winds of change, with both joy and despair.





	1. Episode 1 : The first steps...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Footfalls into the world of Dragons.

Labour was something Cersei was familiar with.

Her marriage to Robert had been a sort of… consolation prize to them both. She had been raised hearing stories about the majestic Targaryens, and she was specially told of Rhaegar, who was to be her husband. In her young mind, somehow biting through the harsh lessons enforced upon her, she dreamt of a life when she had not to pretend, had not to see the world through preset rules for someone else, where she could be with her dragon and he with her, maybe even resulting in a bond of love, someday? She would have no regrets leaving her Jaime behind if that were to be the case.

But alas, by the Seven, it was not to be.

She did not know how to feel when she heard news of Rhaegar kidnapping the Stark girl. She remembered the vivid imagery her mind supplied her, remembered refusing to lay with her brother as they had always laid simply because she hated the idea of doing what may be being forced upon someone else from someone she coveted.

How was she to feel? She still did not know.

She still had no tight hold over her emotions when she was informed that a rebellion had risen and won, news of it kept from her for her mental peace, and she was to marry the new Baratheon King.

She remembered agreeing stoically, and then returning to her room and weeping as quietly as she could.

It was at that moment she realized that she had hated her life, and had desired an escape from it. It was not her fault her mother was sickly and in need of more comfort than most! Why should her father hate her and her existence this negligibly by her mother?

What was her fault?

That was the last time she remembered crying from emotion alone.

She wed with Robert, the first of his name. She laid with him the night of their wedding, as was custom. But her hopes that this would at least live up to be a shadow of what she dreamed it would have been with Rhaegar were shattered the very same night when he repeatedly referred to her as Lyanna.

How could she have forgotten?

As she was meant to wed Rhaegar, so too was Robert to take Lyanna Stark as his own. She remembered the news mid-coitus, and any pleasure she felt from it died instantly. Her husband was done and collapsed on her, unmoving, and she lay there, staring at the ceiling with no expression whatsoever and teary eyes to trade for all her hopes and dreams… a feeling of emptiness.

After she had laid with him, she concocted and imbibed the contraceptive measures common women took. She wanted no spawn of her wretched husband, who now took to drinking and whoring like it was second nature, to birth from her loins.

She was not completely successful.

She grew to be with child, and she reluctantly gave in to the notion of motherhood. Over the eleven months it took for her child to nurture within her womb, she came to see him or her as her last chance at happiness, for she was almost a hundred per cent sure Robert would never lay with her again… nor would she let him.

It was only after an unusually long and arduous labour period that her firstborn... her Ivon was taken from her, by that thrice-damned Baratheon.

He was stillborn, perhaps, but he was still hers.

It was revealed to her by the Maester in secret that her attempted strangulation of any life within her womb had had effects on her baby, causing him to not be allowed proper nourishment from her to grow. He died in the worst of pain.

She sat on her empty bed that night crying in Jaime's arms.

They rekindled their relationship as it was before, and she regularly ensured her use of contraceptives so that she would not lose another child. Jaime became her world, and she his, and all was as before.

That is… until the attempt on her life.

She remembered in vivid clarity the advancing manticore, unusually large, right when she was about to take her monthly dose of child-preventives. She threw the drink at the creature in manic defence but succeeded only in angering it.

Robert rushed in when its pincer was a few handspans away from her body and sliced its head off.

In gratitude, she laid with him that night.

He did not utter the name of his first love, nor did she hers. For just that one night, they were Robert and Cersei, two such hearts that had been denied their desire, and instead chose to connect.

She did not drink again, nor did she lay with her brother. Looking back… it was as if some part of her already knew she was with child.

Now, though, she wished she had. The pain was killing her lower regions, and she wept tears of agony.

"You must push, my queen!" Maester Pycelle insisted. "You must push harder!"  
"WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM DOING, ATTENDING A BALL?!" she screamed in reply, and gave an incoherent scream of pain.

Robert next to her shifted uncomfortable, uncharacteristically sober for the experience. "My dear, you must control yourself."

She drew back her head and flung it forward with a solid effort to push, involuntarily butting heads with her husband… painfully.

"IM SORRY!" she yelled.

Robert raised a thumbs up from where he was sprawled on the ground, scrambling to rise. "Just keep pushing!"

Yes… it was a strange time for a woman when she gave birth.

"It is a boy."

It was when her baby, her alive, breathing, crying baby... when he opened his lungs to the world and cried, her sobs turned from those of pain to those of relief and joy. She held her arms out for her baby and gasped when she got her first good look at him after he was wiped down.

She was instantly in love, and Cersei almost instinctively knew what to call him.

"He shall be Hadrian." She said, with what the servants would swear for decades hence to be the fondest smile to ever grace her features.

It was then that fate re-exerted its hold on reality.

For you see, Cersei was always meant to hate Robert, and Robert was never meant to sire a legitimate heir at all, but it had so happened, and the fate of Westeros would never be the same again.

"Hadrian Baratheon." Whispered the young boy's father, grasping his little boy in spite of his drunken haze. "He will rule over the seven kingdoms and bring good fortune to all those who- urk! ... to... All those who gaze upon him!"

But when Robert gazed back at his wife, still a little delirious from her labour, it was then that, at some unfathomable level deep within his heart, he already knew she hated him with all her being.

For he had almost dropped her child. But that would be the only response fate would be able to give, as it was strangled by the will of a newborn babe.

It was about this very newborn babe that a certain Lannister was thinking of the next week.

Jaime didn't hate his nephew.

It was the oddest thing. Not a soul knew of their indiscretions, but if one did, he was quite certain even his ... unconventional ... relations with his twin would have some sympathizers over Robert's spawn.

As he walked down the hallways to his sister's bedroom, unfortunately not for activities he would rather be doing with her, he reflected on the events since the birth of his... nephew. Oh. The word tasted odd on his tongue, and he hadn't even truly uttered it. Hadrian Baratheon was his sister's son... His beloved's son. Oddly, there were no negative feelings linked with the word at all.

But there were negative feelings associated with Hadrian's mother.

She had spoken to him when he had sneaked into her room to meet her and asked him to seek love elsewhere, for she had none left to give to him.

To be outdone… by that lard of a man…

Their love was blameless at first. They held hands, they spoke of their dreams, they cuddled together under the gaze of night stars… it was all naïve and innocent… until it was not.

They were twins. Twin Lannisters. The best the world has to offer to mankind, and the richest. They also were the most fetching, her beauty and grace unmatched by another, and his own handsomeness and charm unrivalled.

They were meant to be together! None deserved her or him to themselves, broken as a pair and separated! They were meant to live together! To be together! To bear… children… together…

If he were to have a child with his sister... how would he feel?

Would he love the child for being a symbol of his love for her? Would he give him or her the paternal adoration much better than their father ever did? Would he guide them, regale them with his takes and help them to chase skirts or ward off the boys?

Or would he hate them for being something that should not and would not exist?

He looked at his hands as he walked. Would he strangle their tiny, weak neck with his own hands? The hands that have killed several hundred men? The hands that committed actions that branded him Kingslayer?

He shook his head. Even if his sister were to birth his child... He wouldn't kill them. The child has no error, not fault would lie in its hands. If Cersei wished to birth one, then he would ensure that his child lived healthy, happy lives. He would never be able to be their true father, but he would protect them from the shadows. They would deserve more than this son of Robert, simply because they were birthed from Lannister blood, pure and undiluted – blood that had value.

Did the Targaryens not do something similar to keep their blood pure?

He finally entered the room to see almost all of its occupants huddled around his sister. His fists clenched as he made his way into the gathering.

How could he contemplate death when it was supposed to be the celebration of life? There was even a tourney held. If he did have any negative feelings for young Hadrian, he would deal with them in time.

But here he was, staring into emerald eyes that seemed to be glowing, almost, with innocent wonder. The young boy used his whole hand to latch onto his mother's finger, almost like a lifeline. The Baratheon recessive trait for brilliant white hair, due to Targaryen blood, seemed to have emerged, and given the boy an ethereal look.

 Jaime's eyes flickered across the occupants of the room. The entirety of the small council was present, able to use their positions of power as leeway to gaze upon their new prince. Dare he say it, the little devil had won over all of them already; even Varys was oohing and aahing over the babe.

"Your son is adorable." He loudly proclaimed at that moment, breaking the low lull of compliments. "And I'm going to be his best uncle."

"I daresay you will have to contend with me for the spot, my friend." Petyr murmured, reaching into his coat and offering the child a shiny golden dragon. Jaime's eyes narrowed at that. The man was a known whoremonger and it was common knowledge that his brothel catered to... even the most unusual tastes. Not to say that Jaime had never partaken in such activities, but he drew the line when it came to be laying with men.... most of the time.

Hadrian eyed the gold coin for a long moment before turning away, and towards his mother. "Mama!" The little babe made grabby motions for Cersei.

This made everyone stop short.

"Did he... did he just...?" Pycelle stammered.

Cersei sniffled. "My little Harry just spoke his first word! And it was for me!"

Robert had, at first, seemed shocked, but was slowly getting over it and starting to laugh loudly.  
The others, however, shared a look, for it had been only a few days since the babe was born.

Such events soon ruled over the palace, as he grew to be a truly smart and intelligent boy. However, this would not be the Baratheon family in its entirety; for within a year, Cersei was carrying another child. And this one, compared to Hadrian's almost worrisome quiet demeanour, was a rambunctious one even in her stomach. Grandmaester Pycelle joked that he might be a fussy one when he finally got out.

Robert didn't know what to think.

Thank heavens they had two houses to find heirs for, or else the boys may have to scuffle a bit. Although... He couldn't quite imagine Hadrian scuffling for anything. The boy was so well behaved he might as well have said he learned courtroom etiquette in Cersei's womb.

He sighed as he looked over his papers, attempting to make sense of what was spread out in front of him. He never had a great mind for strategy, but he was almost certain he would have seen a pattern in these events in his younger days.

For one, the handmaidens who helped deliver Hadrian were found dead in their rooms. Their bodies were as if they had passed away while in sleep. Jon couldn't find anything out of the ordinary... as if their hearts simply stopped for no apparent reason. Pycelle hadn't even found any poisons after testing their blood by burning it.

Then, the day Hadrian was born, a single raven alighted into King's Landing from outside the city. The raven carried only a single slip of paper, reading, "Hail the Master's birth." It was signed with a strange symbol, which the Alchemist's Guild likened to an ancient seal used by the Warlocks of Qarth.

And then, to further aggravate the situation, a box full of manticore corpses was dropped at the front door. There was no address, no note, and no one spotted the deliverer. The Alchemist's Guild was going wild with that particular one since Manticores apparently have several connotations associated with death and the like. It reminded him of… unpleasant things, so he had it burned. The stench clung to his nose even still.

There was… another event, but he had informed no one of its occurrence. It was perhaps not the strangest, but what it entailed… those three objects gave him strange shivers even when he thought of them… but he had told not a soul and hidden them in the corner of Hadrian's own room, bricked behind the corner. He did not know why he did that, or why, only that he should have.

He grasped his goblet and swallowed, not drowning in the past like he would before Hadrian's birth, but because he was tired after a day of hunting. He glanced down at his stomach in thought. He's fat. Too fat, come to think of it. He couldn't even snag a deer today, trying as hard as he did. In fact, if it weren't for Stannis, he'd be with a broken foot now...

"Dadda!"

Robert's frown of thought turned into a wide if slightly tipsy smile when Hadrian barreled through the door and into his chambers while being followed after by a smiling Cersei.

"Ah, my little fawn!" Robert bellowed, and reached down to grab his son when the oddest thing happened.

Pain.

All he remembered was a strong pain, and the shocked faces of Cersei and Harry before he lost consciousness… or so he thought.

There he was, floating in a black void. His body felt weightless and his worries trivial. Why was he ever stressed? Now that he thought about it, every problem he ever had could be solved with a swift action that he wished he would have taken. Everything just seemed... unimportant.

He recalled almost nothing, but…

A face.

"You must move on, Robert." A voice whispered in the darkness.

Was that… "Lyanna?"

"I was never yours." It continued. No sooner than the last word echoed in the void, motes of silver light appeared and coalesced into a single person. A visage which he would never forget for as long as he lived…

"Lyanna."

"You have a wife now." She smiled. "You have a family waiting for your attention. Why do you pine after me so? I am dead, and you are the living, my friend. We may never unite."

"Why…?"

"I truly do not recall why I never told you the truth." She sighed. "In death… you lose everything and cling to only your being. But I can tell you that I am sorry, and you must not punish others and yourself for my mistake. You were once a great man, and you can be so again. All you must do is… let go."

"But I do not want to." He whispered, and only split second after was he aware of how petulant he sounded.

"We must all do things we do not want." She answered in turn. "Your wife has lived her whole life doing what she supposed she ought to, not what she wanted. Honour that, at the very least."

It was then that he felt a cool darkness. Several tendrils of cold seemed to wrap around him and tug him... somewhere. There was no sense of direction in this expanse.

"Till we meet again, Robert." Her voice followed him, and he looked back to see her disperse into wisps of light. "Have care; your actions will have consequences that can make or break heaven and hell itself."

He felt himself growing heavy. It was as if everything was... coming back. As his eyes closed, he could have sworn he heard Hadrian calling for him.

When he came to, it was to find himself on the bed with Pycelle hovering over him with a bottle of some of the foulest smelling thing he'd ever managed to sample the odour of.

Thankfully, it was withdrawn when he noticed his King's eyes wide open. "Ah, my lord! You're awake! My queen, my king has-"

"Dada!" Came a wail and there was suddenly a small body right on top of him.  
Robert hugged his boy close but spoke all the same. "What happened? I feel like I got run over by a boar!" He remembered everything.

"You suffered a heart attack." Master Pycelle said slowly, as if afraid. Cersei came up to his bedside then, eyeing him with worry. "Not improbable, given ... um ... that is to say..."

"Say it like it is, you sodden oaf. I'm very unhealthy." Robert grumbled, and stroked Hadrian's hair as he thought. Internally, he was shaken to the core. Had he just died and returned to the land of the living? Was it Lyanna that sent him back? He very nearly died today.... died without seeing his son hunt, or sharing a battlefield with him, or even talk about his first fuck. He died without thanking Cersei for this new chapter in his life, without dancing with her... heavens, when was the last time he shared a bed with her?

Things had to change, and they had to change as soon as possible. He was not going to pass on before his son took the throne, and he was not going to be remembered as a father and husband who knew nothing of his family.

Things had to change… he had to change.

 

Nearly a later, Hadrian tossed and turned in his bed, eyes scrunched, and brow beaded with sweat. He was having a recurring nightmare that, despite its intensity, would not let him wake.  
Fortunately, oftentimes, it did not have to.

"Master."

The hissing call roused him. His eyes snapped open, instantly aware, and for just a second, any observer would have told you that his eyes glowed with ethereal energy.

He sighed as he rolled over, and his eyes landed on the corner of the room that seemed to be always drenched in the darkest of shadows.

"How many times must I tell you not to disturb me, dear?" He sighs, then smiles a fond smile as he speaks to empty air. "What is it?"

Silence reigns as Hadrian's indulging expression turns stony. He throws the covers off himself as he snarls in fury.

"I don't know who you're talking about." He growls. "I don't know any bit of what you're talking about! I'm Hadrian Baratheon, firstborn of Robert Baratheon, first of his name and ruler of the seven! I don't know who you think I am, but I am not Harry Potter!"

And with nary a backward glance, he makes his way out of the room. He visibly tries to quell his anger as he moves to the room in which his mother gave birth last night, but he was very drowsy and couldn't pay much attention.

So, it was when he entered his mother's chamber and spotted only one other unwanted guest, a handmaiden, and he asked her for privacy, his mood was already a far cry from what it was moments before.

Some would have found this alarming. The boy himself didn't even notice the change, as most are wont to do when it comes to emotions or matters of the heart.

Hadrian eyed the newly born Joffrey with a critical eye. Cersei smiled at how his face was scrunched up adorably... her son was going to be a lady-killer when he grew some more. She decided then and there she would give him the talk when he was four-and-ten namedays grown.

"Why is he so small?" Hadrian asked, slowly reaching forward. Cersei kept her silence to watch, for a second, and her eyes teared up when Joffrey, even though half asleep, grasped onto Hadrian's finger and didn't let go, eliciting a gasp from the near two-year-old. Ah, it seemed her moods were still not quite under control.

"He will become big in time, my love." Cersei whispers but internally frowns. While Joffrey kicked her a lot in her stomach, her unusual pregnancy of eleven months raised the Archmaester's eyebrows. He had recommended not becoming with child for at least three or so years in order to ensure her next child's health, and she was inclined to believe him. Joffrey was born unusually small, skin unusually pale unlike the blood-rushed Hadrian had been. He looked so ... weak…. in spite of the energy he had previously displayed.

And she knew full and well why.

While the Robert now seemed to be a far cry from what she had thought the man would always be reduced to, the journey to bettering himself had not been easy or fast. There were more than a few hurdles and bumps, but she was glad to have endured them when she saw what the man had recovered and become.

Not … not all the problems came from him.

A pathetic Robert regardless of Hadrian's birth had temporarily sapped all energy from her. She didn't eat or drink for days, only worried after him and tended to his whims. She refused all nourishment until Jaime had sat her down and hugged her close, knowing when she wanted to cry.

And cry she did.

She wouldn't realize how much of a mistake she had made until a few weeks after Robert's near death. The man was slowly changing then, but the energy had returned after that horrible evening in itself. Now, she cursed her stupidity to the high heavens, but then, at the moment, she was unsatisfied that the man had not succumbed.

Joffrey had no fault. He was life born from a night of weakness, however ill-considered. And so, she brought him into the world. He looked so much like her Jaime and herself that she wanted to cry. Perhaps looking at him grow up to become them was to be her penance for her unfaithfulness.

"Then I will protect him." Her eldest said quietly, then looked into her eyes. "I will protect him till he is strong enough to protect himself, and then I will impart to him all I know. If I will be your air, he will be your water. We will never let our father, or you, falter – I will teach him these thoughts. I swear this on my life."

Cersei gazed into the steady emerald eyes of her son with pride and astonishment. For such a young age, Hadrian had been a remarkably smart boy. He learned to speak, walk, read, and write very early, and had begun devouring the Grand Library recently, mostly books and scrolls on science and medicine. Since she had yet to decide a tutor for him, she let him do as he pleased, and wasn't disappointed with the results. He aided Pycelle in guiding her husband Robert down from his ... weight problems ... giving dietary advice that sometimes even surprised the qualified professional in its queerness, but the results spoke for themselves. Robert looked much more a king with less flab on his body that her entire family combined.

For a moment, Cersei felt unbelievably sad. Here in the Royal Palace, amongst the Lords and Ladies of Westeros and in the thick of the Game, no one was safe. No child should have to bear the expectations of an entire Kingdom on their shoulders.

But then she smiled because every child born into the Game learned its nuances... and something told her that her son would learn to weave it on his fingertips with ease.

The Queen to the Baratheon king smiled politely in farewell as Renly, her very young brother-in-law, left after dropping Hadrian by with his manservant. Something always rubbed her wrong about the way they looked at each other... it was as if it reminded her of something, and yet she could not quite place it.

Cersei shook her head, smiling fondly from her bed as she watched her children play with each other on the ground. Such worries were not for now. Although some part of her screamed out foul, another seemed content, as if it was something she was familiar with. She simply decided to let sleeping lions lie, for once. She instead regarded the scene before her which would leave any other to double take at the near tangible cloud of innocence around her children… or those who knew of her younger son's mannerisms.

Five-year-old Joffrey usually hated people on principle, it seemed, and despised such plebeian actions such as sitting on the ground. He was always the near-stereotypical spoiled child, demanding for things and crying if they were not granted to him. Deep in her heart, she worried for his sake. It was no secret what harm incest could bring upon the child born from such a union – it was branded as ‘divine punishment' for such a crime, but Cersei knew better. Some long, long time ago, during the formation of their religion, people must have observed that incest begot deformed children, and assumed it was an act of god and written it down. Joffrey exhibited no such symptoms, but she was no Maester. She dared not ask Pycelle, or the man may as well discover his true parentage and then she would be forced to deal with him. Regardless, her younger son showed no malformed features… save for his temper. It was near-legendary in the castle already. Most servants approached him with caution, for he would only allow his family to hold him or come close.

But with Hadrian, or rather Harry, as he preferred to be called (in spite of her declaration that it sounded too common… he simply said that she should have thought of it while naming him, which in all honesty she really did), such reservations were out the window.

The two were inseparable. If Harry was to spend his afternoon in the Grand Library, then so too would Joffrey force his nurse to take him there. If Harry were to practice his etiquette with his newly appointed tutor, then Joffrey would insist on being in the same room and would even try to emulate his brother.

But apparently, there was a line, because Joffrey was every bit a Lannister where Harry was a Baratheon.

Harry only came to be more adorable as he grew. He preferred to keep his hair short, not too long, but it still stuck every which way despite her own and even his uncle Renly's best efforts to keep it down. His eyes had flecks of light green in them now, causing them to feel as if they were glittering when he was in the sun. His skin was a healthy pale shade, in part due to his refusal to perform outdoor activities in the sun and due to his proportionally large amount of time indoors.

Her earlier decision to give him ‘the talk' when he was fourteen may have to be preponed, considering the looks he received from various Lords and Ladies, perhaps scheming to get their own children betrothed to him in the future. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of that. Her son would marry whomever he wished to, and not whoever had the most clout with her or her husband. But then again, maybe she would not have to be the one to speak with him of such matters at all.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. Robert had become a completely changed man. He no longer drank himself into stupors or whored around like the world would end. Instead, he seemed to have dropped most of his bad habits with his weight. It was easy to see why; the man doted on Harry like no tomorrow. Although she did have to fondly but firmly stop him from teaching her son the way of the sword before his seventh name day. But still... It seemed like the man he was when they first married, before the mess with the Targaryens... He was coming back. She had asked Jaime, once again, to keep his distance for the time being, and phrased it as if someone were on the verge of discovery, but, in actuality, the new man her husband was proving himself to be was drawing her in like never before. And it certainly didn't hurt that he looked quite fetching now, as well.

A strange hissing noise drew her attention, and when she forced herself out of her thoughts, she almost screamed.

The toys that the Tyrells has gifted Joffrey lay aside as if tossed out of disinterest. Her youngest clapped and laughed as Harry played with a snake twice as long as he was tall and as wide as her wrist.

She lurched out of her seat in order to do something but stopped short instead when she heard the hissing noise again, barely audible over Joffrey's laughter as the large black snake. But what gave her pause was not the sound... but its source.

It wasn't from the snake.

Her eyes widened when she realized that Harry was asking the snake to perform those tricks, and it obeyed.

"Harry?" She ventured, cautious.

The boy called upon went shock-still as if he had forgotten where he was and who was around him. The snake coiled, snapping its neck in her direction and hissing threateningly. Seeing this, Harry quickly hissed at it and seemed to assuage its...

Was it defending her son? From her?

Why that little-  
"Now you listen here!" she barked, wagging her finger at the snake, which suddenly went rigid as if he could understand her. "I am his mother! It will be a cold day in hell before he is harmed by my hand! If you were to come between us ever again, I will find myself in possession of a new snake wallet! Am I clear?!"

The serpentine being simply leaned away, as if shocked by her words.

"Good." She huffed. "Now, Harry?"

"Yes, mother?" Harry asked with his eyes on the ground. Joffrey looked at his mother, brother, and the snake, with visible confusion.

Cersei thought about the bizarre situation before she spoke next. "Harry, can you truly speak to the snake?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Yes, mother. I can speak to all snakes."

Cersei regarded her son for a moment, before sighing. "I will ask you not to bring any snakes that have not had their fangs removed near Joffrey... and take your new friend to the Archmaester before you keep it."

Harry's head snapped up and looked at his mother in shock. "You don't hate me?"

Cersei squared her shoulders and quelled around the snake to crouch in front of her child and hug him close. "Oh, Hadrian, you silly boy! Were you not listening to me just now? You're my son! I will always love you, regardless. Never say such a thing again." She whispered, smoothing his hair down.

Joffrey decided that he wanted a hug too, and wobbled forth to throw his arms around them, squealing in delight.

Cersei did not relax until Harry's arms around her went slack with relief.

The next day was not as slack.

"Your mother tells me you can speak to snakes." Robert nonchalantly broke the ice, all with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. Even with such a serious topic at the breakfast table, his father had no tact. "Yes, father. He is currently on the table, you realize?"

"Cheeky boy." Grumbled Robert with a fond smile, then scrunched his eyebrows. "How does that work, exactly?"

Harry took a bite before speaking. "Well, Tom says" -Robert choked on the name- "that all snakes are born with the knowledge of serpentine speech. I apparently have the talent to understand it."

His mother arched an eyebrow. "They learn of a complex thing such as speech simply by… being born?"

"The details are a bit hard to translate." Harry admitted. "But it is like… smelling is, for us. Or rather, breathing is a more appropriate comparison. We are not thought how to do it – we just do."

Robert nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Harry, can you ask it who sent it in?"

"He just wandered it by accident, he said." Harry offered. "He wasn't sent in by anyone."

"Harry, that's an Esterosi Pitch-scale." Cersei spoke then. "Not only is it extremely unusual for one to be here, its venom also has no cure."

Harry tilted his head. "Don't Esterosi Pitch-scales grow to a full forty feet? This one must be very young."

"Harry, just ask it again, if you can." Robert insisted. "This could have been an assassination attempt. For all anyone knows, there hasn't been a warg in the Baratheon family for generations. None would know you would survive."

"A warg..." muttered Cersei. "It has been long since I have heard tell of one, much less seen one with my own eyes. I do not recall any warg having been born in the Lannister family, but I will write home to ask father just to be sure."

"Gillian Lannister, my four times great-granduncle, was a warg reputed for sharing a connection with his pet cat." Harry offered. "He was dishonoured and struck from family records when it was revealed he practised bestiality."

Robert coughed very loudly.

Cersei averted her eyes. "Of course, he did..."

Harry smirked but turned to his scaly companion and hissed. Robert shivered a bit at the sound and offered Cersei an understanding look now that he felt equally as uncomfortable as she said she had felt while listening to the same.

When the snake began to hiss back, Robert took a bigger sip from his goblet.

"He says all he remembers is darkness before he opened his eyes in my room." Harry relayed to the table.

"So, then it is a newborn, and you were to be its first kill." Cersei noted. "Esterosi Pitch-scales are notorious when it comes to taming – they are quite an independent breed of snakes. It would surprise me if someone did tame it… maybe that was the point. It would attack the first person it would see!" gasped. "Does it remember nothing of who brought it here?"

"He only remembers the taste of stale air and sweat, in conjunction with ale and the sea." Harry shrugged. "An odd combination."

"Flea Bottom, it has to be." Robert muttered, hands over his eyes. "Maybe someone doesn't like me being a competent king…? I have not harmed anyone recently, and neither have you." He peeked at his wife from between his fingers. "And Hadrian is just a boy. I'm confused. The world is stupid."

"That is why you are king, my love." Cersei speaks, patting his arm in sympathy regarding dealing with idiots. "I do believe, however, that it would be prudent for Harry to learn some form of self-defence. We do not know that the individual with murder on their minds will use animals the next time. Certain things you can only do so much against, but if he knew to protect himself, it would ease my mind. If the person is skilled enough to fight through or sneak through the palace, he may be able to hold them off until help arrives."

"Is there a weapon that interests you, Hadrian?" Robert nods and asks, eyeing him with a warrior's scrutinizing gaze. "I don't think you'll be wielding anything heavy, but a light short-sword or maybe twin daggers would be better."

"Am I not going to be trained in bearing heavy armour and a shield and wielding a sword like all the other princes?" Harry asked curiously. The snake, meanwhile, had finished the little bowl of milk Harry had set for it and coiled around his left hand so that its head was next to his.

Robert and Cersei exchanged a look. "Do you wish to? We didn't think that you would desire to be a knight..."

"Oh no, I am actually glad you will not force me to be one." Harry beams. "Does this mean I won't be fostered as well?"

"Crown princes and members of the ruling family do not usually foster their own children, or even accept fostering requests from other families." Robert explained, biting into his chicken with a thoughtful expression. "I don't think there will be an outcry if you don't go anywhere either."

"He is not going anywhere, Robert dear." Cersei spoke in a too-sweet voice that sent shivers up Her husband's and son's spines.

"Yes dear." Robert immediately said, aiming to placate his wife. "Of course not!"

"Good." Cersei smiled, then looked upon her son with a fond expression. "With the way you study, your father and I believed you would wish to be a Maester or a scholar of a sort. That usually doesn't mix well with combat in most people, so we thought expecting you to be a Knight would be too much."

Harry's expression softened fondly, and he got up from his chair and proceeded to hug each of his parents, much to the contentment of the snake on his arm (who was growing to love human warmth) and the horror of his parents (who were quickly becoming more and more uncomfortable with said reptile). "Thank you. As for combat... I would prefer to train by myself if I can. I have an idea for a new discipline that... won't be socially acceptable in today's knight-obsessed world... or in a tourney."

"Whatever keeps you safe, my dear." Cersei speaks, smiling fondly at her son. Her smart, intelligent, handsome, warg son.

Oh, she's going to have a ball, screening wives for him.

"There is also one more matter." Robert spoke then. "The Alchemist's Guild has requested for you. By name."

Hadrian paused, and Cersei wasn't sure, but she thought she saw, for a single instant, pure, unadulterated fury on her little boy's face. But... that couldn't be right. Her son never ever got angry. Ï was not aware I had garnered their scrutiny."

"The guild has lost repute in recent times, true," his father nodded, "but they claim that once their members weaved spells of fire and destruction like we swing swords. They have heard tell of your intelligence and wished to extend an invitation to join as a novice."

"And I am to learn that hocus pocus, am I?" their son scoffed. "I'm not interested in such myths. Magic is something scant in today's world, the books say. If their time of glory is gone, let it be gone. Let sleeping dragons lie." He then arched an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you have not disbanded them yet."

Robert couldn't be sure, but something in him lurched at a part of that sentence. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to identify which part. "There would be a heavy outcry if we did. The guild, even reduced to a mere curiosity, is still widely known across Westeros. While we could simply demand the recipe for Wildfire and make it ourselves… it's just too much work." He sighed. "So, I should give them a negative answer, yes?"

"Yes." His son said resolutely. "I will never join the Alchemist's Guild of my own free will."

"Will this room suffice, my lord?" The maid asks, eyes on the floor and head bowed.

Harry eyes it critically. After the festivities of his eighth nameday, he asked a room from his father to research and try out things he learned from reading. While the request had garnered a raised eyebrow, he was immediately granted that which he asked. His parents were really free with things, whether material possessions or their love. He was far from ungrateful, but the contrast between this and his former life often sent him into his melancholic moods.

He takes a look at the woman next to him, then nudges her with his elbow. "I am offended you find the floor more interesting than me." He says with an easy grin. "I shall endeavour to be as solid still and boring so that you would cast your gaze upon me."

The maid looked at him in shock, then smiled reluctantly. "I'm .... sorry... my lord...?"

Harry waved her off. "Apology denied." He smirked. "If you must apologize, you must give me a slice of apple pie, and your name."

The maid seemed very confused with his attitude towards her. Little did she know that he knew what it meant to serve without gratitude, and thus tried to be a decent human being to the servant folk unlike the other royalty in the castle. His mother was his world and all but... she had a ruthless streak a mile wide. If his father had not stopped whoring around, Harry swore that the entirety of King's Landing would soon be populated with only his bastard brothers. The less said about Joffrey, the better, and the other Lords and Ladies were only marginally improved in comparison. He had seen such differences back in his own world, maybe even to a further extent, so he was quite used to it. However, some small hidden part of himself flinched when he saw someone being talked harshly to when they catered to someone's every whim – some part of the human Harry Potter lived on, it seemed, and he was not sure if it was a liability or a boon.

The maiden finally replied, more confident. "My name is Druella, my lord."

"Alright, then Druella, chop-chop! One slice of apple pie, please!" He beams, clapping to emphasize his point, and taking care to be a bit bouncy. "The quicker you're back, the quicker you'll get a week's pay and the rest of the day off!"

"Yes, my lord!" She smiles much easier now and hurries off.

As soon as she is out of the cavernous empty room and the door is closed, the smile on his face drops and his face turns stony. $It is a sobering sight, when one sees a person incapable of coming to terms with being spoken to kindly.$ he hisses, rubbing his face with his hand. $I cannot decide whether or not to be angry or simply accept it as the way the world works.$

$Master, you have told me of your past cycle. I doubt that many in your station would care otherwise.$ the Eastern Asp, who he has affectionately named Tom (a name with no past overtones, pleasant or ill, at all, he swears), hisses from where he is wrapped around his entire left arm. $You humans bother too much with niceties. It is better to exert your dominance by biting.$

It only took one thought of Joffrey sneering and biting everyone in sight to send Harry into a fit of laughter. $Oh, that would be completely acceptable. I shall try to emulate a more snake-like behaviour.$

$You humans would not know good manners if it bit you in the nose.$ Tom hissed. Even though he has virtually no way to make facial expressions, Harry would swear he is sneering. $Uncivilized, the lot of you, like you have not progressed past being monkeys at all, still.$

$I am not having this conversation with a snake.$ Harry said with a deadpan expression.

The snake rolled its eyes. $It is a wonder we can converse at all. You are not my destined master.$

Harry smirked lightly as he mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. $You can thank your namesake for that. Now hush, I am trying to work.$

Tom hissed a few unflattering things but soon fell silent.

Harry turned to look around. The palace was gigantic, and sometimes Harry doubted that the people of this world had ever heard of concepts like humility. He had studied the Targaryen lineage and found a glaring similarity with their existence and the purebloods back home who had similar tastes – inbreeding.  
‘Keeping the blood pure' was even the same excuse they used. He very much doubted that the people of this world did not know the detrimental effects the act had on children – there were laws written by the Sept that prohibited the act, and children borne of incest were usually mad or far too easily angered. Unfortunately, the Sept had lost much of its power after their first uprising against the Targaryens, and there were too man mad kings born even normally to mark the trait as an identifier.

Harry chuckled when he thought further on the Sept. He had not found much truth to the idea that the god existed, but in a world with magic and dragons, anything was possible. Was he not nearly a god himself…? The world had nothing to put its magic into, and he was a ready and willing conduit for all the delicious power…

But… that was not entirely true. There was something in this world that was drinking in barely more than a trickle of the power. Harry had observed a similar connection between beings composed of elements and the magic of the world then – barely enough power to exert complete control over a single element, sometimes wreathed in it. There was something different about it too – the connection between whatever was in the north and the magic of the world was heavily tinged with necrotic magic.

This was odd by itself. As far as he was aware, this world had no personification of death as a deity…

But anyway, the point was that it wasn't difficult to find a large room like this one to use. And this was going to be the place where he started bettering the world, so it would require protection.

The first bit of magic that came to Harry was astral projection, and he used it to the very limit he could to explore the world around him, be it near or far. He'd been so far as the Wall and back, mainly to investigate that buzz to the north, and could frankly say the state of the world disgusted him. It was partially why he did not want to be king - if he were to take the throne, he wouldn't be able to truly help the suffering population here with all he had.

He cracked his knuckles. Tracing the room with his eyes, he figured out which side faced the front of the castle and readied himself, then hissed a "Flagrate."

He hissed a bit in pain as his first spell unlocked his magic completely. Usually, accidental magic was when a wizard or witch's magic was used for the first time, but his strong control over his emotions and all the occlumency he did to suppress any possibility of it had borne fruition. It wouldn't do for any strange things to be aired to that public that who make him the centre of attention. It was bad enough that he only regained his memories after he told his parents about Parseltongue...

He traced the required runes in the air with his pointer finger, wincing at the burn. A wand was like a valve - it allowed your magic within you to change the world around you. It is why the various magics that deal with the body of the wizard itself like occlumency or the changing of a Metamorphagus didn't require a wand. Animagi were different in so that they forced their body to take the form of their closest animal equivalent.

He finished the matrix and activated it with a simple "Excitant."

The changes were not obvious, but they weren't meant to be. The privacy matrix he wrote ensured that no sound from within would leave the confines of the room, and anyone trying to peek in would only see extremely blurred approximations. Very basic, but for the moment it would do. In till he had a wand, runic magic was all he had, since the air-writing and runic-activation spells were the only ones he could do wandlessly.

He began to scrawl another runic set into the air. In all his research, he never came across any mention of powerful magic sensors or the like, but these Warlocks of Qarth sounded like bad news. Even if their power has dwindled, he knew very well how even a little magical power can be used to obtain more, especially without the reservations that having good morals put on a person.

It's a very good thing he didn't have good morals then. After all, he wasn't once called the Butcher of Hogwarts for nothing...

A tray clattered behind him. He rolled his eyes and sighed. That is what the other runic array was for - no one should be able to enter this room unless he was in contact with them in some way. He turned to look at the intruder slowly, quickly working on a matrix with his finger behind his back. It was the maid, Druella, and she had returned with a slice of pie for him. Currently, she was just staring at him in shock and awe.

He smiled. "Welcome back, Druella."

"My... my lord... what is that... how are you…?" She tried, but words understandably failed her when she saw a child writing in the air with his finger.

Having finished the matrix, he sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry Druella, but none can know my secret."

He activated the runic matrix, which took shape of a familiar green spell. Just for old time's sake, he whispered the incantation as the spell shot from his palm and smacked straight into the poor woman.  
"Avada Kedavra."

A few days later, he knocked on his father's door and entered shortly after.

"You summoned me, father?"

Harry was having quite the good week, all said and done. He had certain plans in the making which would see much of his powers restored and then, as he learned from his father, he would wash the stains of this world with a tsunami of magic. He would see Westeros rise even if he had to break its back to do so.

His father looked up from his papers. The youngest in the room couldn't help but admire his father for a moment. He still remembered the oaf his father used to be, but bringing him back from the dead seemed to have snapped him out of whatever funk he had been in. He was back in his warrior shape, and he no longer had to keep spending money to get his clothes enlarged time and again. His garments were well groomed and every part of him seemed to scream magnificence. This was a true Baratheon king, and Harry was proud to be his son.

"Hadrian, dear, when was the last time you saw your minder?"

Harry did his best not to smirk. No one would ever see Druella again, and his secret was safe. And her body had been useful too.

Tom had enjoyed the taste very much, enough to try his best to convince Harry to feed him a human every other week. And the heart of a virgin female can be used for several rituals... including the one he first wanted to perform.

"Hadrian?" His father asked again, tone concerned. There were sometimes that Harry saw… something behind his father's eyes, but he often convinced himself he was imagining it. His father was many things… but cunning was not one of them.

"I beg your pardon, father, I was thinking. I think I saw her last week when I asked for a room to practice in." He said, pulling a thoughtful frown on his face. "Come to think of it... I haven't seen her at all since then."

Robert frowned, turning to look outside the window. "There have been disappearances in the castle lately. I thought it was around two, but with your minder gone, that makes it three or so… we have no way of knowing for sure…"

Harry rolled his eyes, confident no one saw the action. "Perhaps, father, they have simply left their jobs. Have you asked Baelish to confirm the numbers of his... employees?"

Robert chuckled at the last word. "Aye... maybe we are worried for nothing..."

Harry sighed. His father was a good person, really, but he also needed the heart of seven virgins for the ritual. It was hard enough finding a virgin in this place, either the male workers or the Kingsguard or the members of the residing family already defiled most of them. The only virgins were girls who newly joined, and even then, it was seldom so.

It was one of the things in this world that just… was. Where in his world it was done so discreetly that no one caught wind of it until someone slipped or simply due to bad luck, here women and effeminate boys were sexualized freely. In a society dominated by warriors and men, it was only to be expected. It was a common punishment for women to be bared naked for a period of time as they worked, and around ten per cent of the prostitutes in brothels were men catering to both genders or exclusively to men, Harry knew.

He walked around the desk and tugged his father down for a hug. "Don't stress yourself all too much, father. You are a king, yet you are also a man. While it is the duty of a king to be better than those he rules, everyone has their limits."

Robert let a warm smile grace his features and ruffled his son's hair. "Look at you, you're not even half my height and you're already lecturing me on how to rule."

Harry huffed and pulled out of his father's embrace. "Just because you're older than me doesn't mean I can't offer helpful already device sometimes." He muttered, with an exaggerated pout.

Robert chuckled and muzzled his beard into his son's cheek. "Alright, now get. I've got some ledgers to look over."

Harry smiled and waved before walking out, slowing when he passed out of the corridor.

Lying was something Harry found very thrilling. You had to do it just right, with your entire being, to never be doubted. And he wasn't talking about omission or misdirection either, but actual proper complete lies. It was a guilty pleasure back when he was in another world, and even when he eventually came to rule over all else, lying was one of the few vices he did not sigh and give up for the smooth functioning of his reign.

Who was he kidding? Even after his magic grew and grew and his vaults grew fuller and fuller as the society he hated so much decayed under his rule, he never gave up any of his hobbies. There was a massive well-warded and rune-protected room in his palace simply for rituals, dungeons to cater to his torture fixes, and a luxurious bedroom for his liaisons. He spent and ate and drank as he wished, all as he leeched the populace for all they were worth, muggle and magical alike. Perhaps it was that target he painted on his own back that led to his ‘death'.

Apostrophes emphasized. After all, a man with the perk he had could never die, in the fullest sense of the word.

Harry turned into the next corridor and stopped short.

It was Joffrey there, he was certain. This corridor wasn't one frequently used, it just led to a long way up to the ramparts. So, what was his brother doing here?

"Joffrey?"

Said boy froze, and slowly turned. There was an expression of confused delight and a subtler scared countenance that conveyed the fear of punishment on being caught that made Harry smile.

His hands were red with blood.

"This is not what it looks like." He said, quickly standing up, and wiping his hands on his coat in a futile exercise to clear his image. "The- the cat was-"

"Oh, Joffrey." Harry sighed theatrically, slinging his arm over his brother's shoulders.

The other boy simply had a ‘canary-spotted-by-the-cat' look. How amusing.

Harry wiggled his fingers to draw attention to them, and slowly and carefully scripted the runic matrix for a cleansing charm, activated it with a flourish, and let it wash over them both.

He smirked when Joffrey's jaw dropped. "What-"

"You are not the only one with secrets, my brother." The older smiled, tugging the younger along as he made his way to the destination he had in mind. "Tell me, do you believe in magic?"

It was a simple, innocuous question. It was one that he had heard in another lifetime, one that started his foray into a world of wonders and infinite possibilities. He reminisced upon his past as they walked and wondered if history was going to repeat itself soon.

Would he wake up again?

"...and this is the room where none may see what we will do."

Harry eyed Joffrey with a calculating gaze as the boy walked into the chamber. He reminded him a lot of Draco Malfoy - the same self-assured arrogance, the same superiority-inferiority complex, it was remarkable, the similarities; and he had similar facial features to boot. If the hair were a little lighter, and his nose a little bit different, they would match each other like a mirror image. Their story would also continue to be similar – he had once taken Draco under his wing and raised him as his second, as he would now do with Joffrey… yes… plans formed in his head as he walked after his younger brother. He would have to meditate for some details of a few rituals later if he wanted to see his plans through and find suitable replacements for any absent reagents – the hardest task in the lot – but he would take it as a challenge more than the arduous task it would prove to be.

Harry shut the door with a move that echoed in the large hall. Without pause, he began etching runes into the air.

"I kept the women I kidnapped for a ritual. I need them to be alive for it to properly and fully work; or rather, I need their beating hearts." He said, as he finished and activated the sequence. A wormhole like emerald green construct appeared in front of him and popped out a human being.

"I know her." Joffrey quietly says. "She always tells our mother if I skip classes with my tutor."

Harry grinned. "Joffrey, meet Odessa - second lady under-server to our mother, the queen. This one was a true surprise. But then it turns out that instead of spreading her legs the proper way, she just turns around."

Joffrey sniffed in distaste. "You are developing a taste for father's tongue."

Harry laughs, although a small part of him twinges in interest at that. "I only show myself to people I trust, Joffrey." He says, giving the younger boy a meaningful look. The first step to inspiring unswerving loyalty, he noted, was to plant the idea in your victim's head that he or she was deserving of such a privilege. If one had not already established one's superiority over the target, the entire exercise was futile.

The other boy stands a little straighter at that, as Harry expects. He may hate people on principle, but his brother has always been his idol, a constant he had come to depend on.

"Pl-please..." is the feeble prompt from the near-unconscious woman.

"She's half dead..." Joffrey notes with an intrigued expression.

The elder Baratheon eyes him for a few seconds, before grinning. This grin was not his usual boyish one that charmed hearts, however. This one was terrifying, especially so on the face of a twelve-year-old.

"Ah, so you want one that screams." He noted. He quickly withdrew a dagger from his clothes and stabbed the woman straight through the eye. There was a wet squelch as the glorified knife struck true, and blood and the remains of her eye began to leak out of the socket.

Joffrey knelt to observe closely. The sight that the stabbed-through and destroyed eye made for an entertaining sight. "I did not think the eye was so soft."

"Stick with me and you will learn a lot of things, brother." Harry smiles and traces a matrix in the air. On activation, the woman vanishes in a green swirl and another takes her place, this one bound and gagged and far more alive.

"Can anyone learn that writing thing you do?" Joffrey asks, curious. "It would be useful to hide things most of all."

Harry chuckles and shook his head. "No. Or at least... not without something else being done first. We can come back to that later"

He waved his hand towards her for emphasis when he spoke next. "This one gave me trouble. I actually had to cut her hamstrings - they're muscles on the back of your thighs that are important to walk - to get her to stay in one place. She'll be more to your liking."

He stepped back then, giving the show to Joffrey while etching a paralysis matrix in the air to be kept ready in case things got out of hand. "Go ahead."

Joffrey just stood there and looked at the struggling serving girl for a long time. "I'm not sure where to begin." He finally admitted, looking to his brother in askance.

Harry didn't move, opting to speak to motivate his brother. "You like causing pain, Joffrey. But that was just a cat you a gutted. If you liked the cat screams, you're going to love hers. Remove her gag first, and just talk to her first. Get a feel for what makes her tick."

Joffrey tilted his head further. "'Makes her tick'? What does that mean?"

"Different people have different fears." Harry teaches, eyeing his brother. So far, he wasn't impressed. The position he had caught him in showed promise, but now he was second-guessing himself. "Some people are vain about their looks - they won't so much as bat an eye if you kill someone close to them but if the blood splashes on their face they go into hysterics. Some people fear insects or crawlers of the sort - causing them physical pain would be far less satisfying than leaving them in the dark with rodents crawling all over them. You have to find what she fears and use it. But it may take more experience to pull off correctly. I guess you should leave that for now. This is your first time, my treat, so simply do whatever your heart wants."

Joffrey nodded and then turned to look at the woman before him. Even in her frightened state, she was beautiful. Not nearly as beautiful as his mother, but still. Her eyes were a chocolate brown shade, lighter than normal and yet darker than what would be clear chocolate.

"Your eyes are pretty." He says as much. The girl before him, confused, only whimpers as he slowly removes her gag. "Makes me want to pluck them out."

"Please... your grace... Please..." the woman is sobbing now.

"Please... do it?" Joffrey asks, smiling wide. "Of course! Far be it for me to deny my loyal subjects."

Harry snorted and began to describe a runic matrix in the air. "You and your fascination with being king… I will never understand it."

"To rule over the masses… they will all be beneath me." Joffrey smirked, then it shifted into a playful scowl. "I will, of course, be a just king, as you have taught me – although there will be no fun in that."

"Ruling is not all fun, brother mine." The elder chided, activating the runic matrix, and deftly grasping the scalpel that emerged when it vanished. He twirled it a bit before handing it to his younger half. "But this will be. This is an extremely sharp blade, however small. We will begin our lessons with it."

Joffrey gingerly took the weapon, eyes roving over its edge. "One must never underestimate anything, be it tool or person. Everything has its own use."

"I am happy to see you remember my words." He beamed. "Now let us begin. With the theme of our previous statement, practice making small cuts on her for as long as I am gone. Cut off minor parts like the ears or eyelids if you so wish. But whatever you do, do not damage her heart in any way." he stretched and turned around. "I did need those hearts fresh, I said, so I'll be off hunting for more." He waved negligently over his shoulder as he exited the room. "Have fun!"

Joffrey watched his exit impassively, then turned to the woman with a small grin on his face. "I do so adore him, you know. When I am his king, and he is my Hand, the entire world we reside in will bow to us."

"You are… monsters." The woman stuttered and spat out a bit of blood. Oh, it seemed as if Harry had already roughed her up a little. Oh well. "Both of you. Monsters…"

Joffrey's face turned stony. He eyed her for a moment, wondering… he did say the blade was very sharp, after all…

The youngest Baratheon reached out and, in a swift move, cut off her ear.

He smiled into her scream. "What should we cut next? He did say to go slow, but you see, I am so very impatient."

"Help!" the woman screamed, and Joffrey cackled madly.


	2. Episode 2 : ...that will bring down mountains,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All will fall as he wills.
> 
> Age: 15 namedays.

The scream that rang through the room choked off with a gurgle. 

"Yes, that was a good one." Harry complimented, patting his brother's back, uncaring of the bloody print he left behind. "You have learnt well in these past three years."

Joffrey Baratheon beamed under the praise. And it was all for doing something he loved! These past years had clearly shown him how letting loose one's tension could aid him in being an overall more positive person. Since he had begun his daily sessions with his brother, he was able to simply disregard anything he found annoying, as compared to when he would constantly complain about it before. Even he noticed the change in himself and was all the gladder for it. After all, whining was far below a prince's prerogative.

He waves a hand over himself, and the blood is gone. Another gesture later the body of a five-year-old boy is in the air, including the spilling entrails.

"We need the eyes for this one." Harry reminds him and steps back to allow his brother to work in peace, absently petting the head of a now fifteen feet long Tom.

Even on the day on which he had worked the ritual, he was not entirely sure it would be successful. 

After the first one to raise his magical power to at least some semblance of what it used to be towards the end of his previous life, he managed to bring together a ritual to cultivate a talent for magic in Joffrey. It was not easy, as he had to substitute seven ingredients for runes, acts of magic, and living sacrifices, but he pulled through. Where the original ritual basically propagated the transfer of magic from one wizard to another, he worked it to draw from the environment (making a propagator of the forty or so children born in the first month of the year he used) rather than himself. 

"I'm done, brother." Joffrey says, and hovering in front of him are two small heterochromatic eyes. 

"Good. We should be able to finish the ritual on the night of the full moon." Harry notes and gestures at Tom to consume the corpse. 

The snake, too wide, heavy, and long to ride his arm like before, reared back from where it was coiled next to him on the floor and pounced. Where before it would take Harry shrinking the corpse to get the snake to swallow it whole, it could now do it without any applied magic... especially since it was the body of a youngling.

"He is beautiful when he does that." Joffrey notes. "I long for a familiar of my own, one day."

"The entirety of the world will be at your beck and call when you are king, brother mine." Harry smiles, banishing the eyeballs to a pocket dimension and slinging his arm over the shoulders of his brother. "Let us away. It is time for us to wake up for the day soon and I'm unsure if mother dearest would like to see us out of bed."

Joffrey smirks. "If she knew what we were truly up to, she would probably have us hanged. Not that it would work, of course. And then unneeded slaughtering would follow. I hate having to spell the blood off my clothes. It's just never the same after."

"I doubt it. Even if we were to end every last person on the surface of this world, I'm certain shed welcome us with loving arms and ask us what we wish for tea." Harry laughs and guides them out the door.

The younger brother studies the older for a few moments before speaking. "You have changed my life for the better, and I have never expressed my gratitude. I shiver to think where I would be in the eyes of others today if I had not found a suitable outlet for my hate. Thank you."

His brother blushed a bit. "It is of no consequence."

"It is your name-day today." Joffrey reminds him. "Have you prepared your speech for the tourney?"

"I will manage without one." Harry smirks. "If I were to prepare a speech, it would cause the Lords and Ladies to undoubtedly fall asleep."

"I'm sure your eyes would convince them otherwise." 

The two men whirl around to face the voice, while the snake at their side fights against rolling his eyes in annoyance at his master's oblivious Ness to his surroundings. 

"Uncle Jaime." Harry greets.

Joffrey doesn't. Instead, his eyes zero in on a very visible mark on his face, visible even in the pale light of the torches high above them. "Has someone struck you?"

Their uncle only chuckles. "I deserved it." He says, and both the snake and the true wizard can detect the underlying tinge of bitterness when he next speaks. "I may have overstepped my bounds."

"Who dares?" Joffrey demands. "I shall smite them!"

The elder Baratheon levels his brother with a look.

Jaime simply laughs it off. "With the power of your angry gaze? You give 'if looks could kill' a whole new meaning, I will admit, but I would rather this one person stay alive."

"You cannot be seen like this." Harry tuts. "What would the people say? If you accompany me to my room, I have a salve for bruises that I use after training that will help you greatly."

"I would appreciate that." Jaime nods. 

"Well, I am off to see mother." Joffrey inputs. "I will ready the gurney for your funeral later today."

"Don't remind me." The other grimaces. "I hate that bint more than I hate rats."

His younger brother simply shakes his head and waves a hand over his shoulder as he walks away.

"Come along, uncle." Harry says, and resumed the journey down to his room. His and Joffrey's were on the same corridor but on opposite ends. At first, they shared a room for family sake, but their tastes grew too different to accommodate the other for much longer.

"Who is the unlucky girl to have earned your ire?" His uncle asks, watching the snake his nephew called Tom depart with Joffrey. He could swear he saw the creature more with the other brother than Harry himself, nowadays. 

"Margaery," Harry says, sighing in resignation as he opens his door. " whpI am to meet and judge worthy or not to be betrothed to me."

"And why do you find her unworthy? I am have heard she is a beautiful lass... and a virgin too." Jaime asks, eyes scanning the room. This one is done in shades of black and green, a sharp contrast to Joffrey's pale cream and reds. 

"I care not for such things." The youngest corrects. He walks over to where his weapon is mounted on a plaque and bends over to retrieve the salve jar from the cabinet, unaware of the wandering eyes of the only other living person in the room. "It is her face that sets me wrong. She reminds me of a monkey."

His uncle laughs a surprised laugh. "A monkey? Margaery Tyrell reminds you of a monkey? Oh my."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Laugh it up. When you spot someone who you just don't like for the sake of it, without any reason, then you will know my situation."

He walks back up to his uncle and opens the jar. "Here."

"What is this, exactly?" Jaime asks but accepts after he smells a sweet scent from the open jar.

"It is my own creation. It encourages the blood flow in a certain area, along with providing a slight healing edge because of all the herbs. Works amazingly for light things such as bruises." Harry explained. 

His uncle began to gracelessly scoop copious amounts of it onto his cheek.

"You're hopeless." Harry remarks, as he steps up with a smile and properly applies the salve, depositing the rest back in the jar. “You act as if you have never used any salve in your life.”

Jaime cannot help but look into his eyes as this occurs, and notices that the flecks of lighter green Cersei had told him about were increasing in number, giving them a truly otherworldly appearance. 

Harry, noticing that his uncle was staring, decided to arch an eyebrow. "Uncle?"

Jaime did not speak, but, high on rejection from his beloved sister and quite spurned on by the closeness of his nephew, bent his head a little (or a lot... He hadn't really grown much taller) to press his lips against Harry's.

The younger was startled, for all but a second. Then his hands dropped the jar and wound themselves into Jaime's hair, and the other's hands found themselves kneading the flesh of his, admittedly rather large, backside. It was nothing and everything to Harry at the same time. Having the mentality of an adult in a youngling's body, sex was something Harry had reluctantly given up on until he was at least seventeen. He had forgotten to account for the fact that in this world, maturity is not something strictly affiliated with age. So he now appreciated a lot of what he lost. 

Kissing a man was a lot different than kissing a woman. Whether dominant or submissive, proactive or passive, there was just an element of roughness that you couldn't feel with the fairer sex, at least in his experience... unless you were doing Bellatrix Lestrange. Then all your bets were out the window. After all, she was one who enjoyed the torture curse being used on her so much that she could actually orgasm from it.

It was within a few short moments that Jaime regained his senses and pushed Harry away. "No... This is wrong."

"Uncle?" Harry asked, playing the part of an innocent teenager.

"I... I'm sorry, Harry. I'll see you at the tourney." Jaime said and retreated as quickly as he could. 

Harry just sighed in sexual frustration, which had reared its head after fifteen years of managing to keep it down. 

After that disappointment, Harry remained a tad distracted. He sighed and closed the door with a flick of his wrist, then repaired the ceramic jar of the salve and vanished the spilt remains.

"Fucking incestuous cock-blocking pig."

It was stupid to think you could keep secrets from someone who could read every thought you have ever had with a single glance, and Harry had that very power. Of course, he knew about his mother and uncle. The rumours already spread in their dishonour only prompted him to look into the matter, or else, he'd be ashamed to say he wouldn't have known at all. The two were careful to such an extent that even perfume and smells were used inventively to hide their activities.

And just now, his mother had slapped him.

He was relieved to finally note that his mother got some sense in that amazing brain of hers and broke it off with Jaime. He was able to use magic to repair the boy's mind and DNA structure but doing so almost killed Joffrey. He was quite unsure if he could do so again; healing had never been his forte. 

He looks in the mirror and sighs, undoing the fastenings on his shirt. He has aged much better this time simply because he did the required rituals earlier on than in his past life, wherein he had performed them when he was beyond twenty or so, well past the age the body easily accepts such influences. 

His eyesight was perfect. His body was an appealing combination of muscle where it mattered most and healthy fat in the right places, giving him an androgynous air. His hair was cropped short and styled backwards. All in all, he looked quite roguish if he said so himself.

He wore his garments with a sigh of resignation. What was done is done. Jaime woke the beast, but now there is no way to put it back to sleep when coupled with teenage hormones. And unless you wanted to develop a mental disorder of some kind, it was never a good idea to suppress primal desires with Occlumency. Snape had been a veritable vault of dramatic tension and angst. Oh, never enough angst with that man.

He barely noted what he was wearing as he grabbed his boots. Some sort of bit the green tunic and black leggings. Eh. 

He looked into the mirror to gather his wits as best he could before he left his room, and proceeded to do just that-

Only to run right into his other sexual deviant of an uncle (or at least he would be if his exploits were to be commonly known. Harry had done far more disturbing things than anyone alive on this pathetic rock of a planet could ever dream of to get his jollies off), Renly Baratheon.

"Well if it isn't the man of the hour. Five and ten! How does that feel?"

Harry smirked a bit. If Jaime was not going to get him all off, then he would just have to make do. He usually preferred dis men older and women younger, but who was he to complain when he had no other choice? He was not willing to sleep with anyone he did not have the upper hand over, and the only remotely interesting sexual blackmail he had uncovered would be for Jaime, Renly, Petyr (but the man wasn't interested in his gender at all), and Pycelle (just no. Absolutely not).

"As usual. I'm not feeling quite as self-important as Joffrey, though." Harry joked, leaning against the doorframe.

Renly laughed. "And that is something to be grateful for. With some actual talent to go with that massive ego, you would probably have everyone eating right out of your hands! Not that you don't already..."

"Why, uncle Renly!" Harry mock-gasped. "I wasn't aware you thought so highly of me! How flattered I am." 

The older teen blushed. "Be careful, Harry. I am just three years older than you."

Said boy simply smirked wider. "And if I don't stop calling you uncle? Then what?"

"Then I'll show you how young I am." He spoke before he could control himself, and ended up blushing heavily, but didn't take his words back.

Harry faked a goggle-eyed look with deliberate falseness. "I do believe I'm quite too young for that."

Renly blushed further. Harry so enjoyed playing this one. What made it more fun was the situation in its entirety. Even though his uncle was currently involved with his squire, Loras Tyrell, the monkey's brother, he had a massive crush on Harry ever since he first laid eyes on him at a young age. Harry didn't mind the attention - Renly reminded him a lot of Neville, in certain ways. 

"Quite too young for what?" A certain voice asks, and both turn to see Cersei fast approaching, with Joffrey at her side and Tom at her heels. 

"Uncle Renly here was going to introduce me to the pleasures of the flesh with ten or so whores after you lot went to sleep tonight." Harry shamelessly reported. 

Renly shot him a look of pure betrayal.

Cersei smiled a little too sweet as she turned to regard her brother-in-law. "Is that so? I certainly hope these where's are being... preventive of unwanted circumstances?"

Renly simply fled the scene.

"He behaves far younger than his age." Joffrey noted in disapproval. "He would do well to learn tact."

Cersei does not respond and instead turns to embrace her son. "Ah, to be five and ten."

"Relax mother." Harry smiles back mischievously. "Your old hag days are yet to approach."

"I'll show you old hag." Cersei mock growls and dramatically rolls back her sleeves.

Tom and Joffrey both simply sigh. “While it would no doubt be… entertaining,” the latter notes, with a pinched face, “I daresay we are too late to indulge such… immature behaviour.”

“Oh, my son.” Cersei sighs with a fake sniff. “Where did I go wrong with you? Come and surrender yourself to your mother’s bosom once more!”

The boy in question looked suitably horrified.

$I think she is asking for what you humans call ‘hugs’.$ Tom helpfully added.

Joffrey ern so fast one would think he apparated.

His mother blinked. “Oh. Well, I do belive we are getting late.” She murmured, straightening her dress and giving Harry a playful scowl. “You’ve made me soft, my son.”

Harry gave her a small, true smile. “You deserve it, mother. You deserve more happiness than I could ever grant you.”

Cersei too, as she did more and more frequently, smiled a true smile before offering her arm to be taken. “Very well, my young knight. Would you escort your queen?”

Harry theatrically bowed and took it firmly in his own. “As your Highness commands.” He acquiesced, with a blinding smile.

As they walked down, in stark silence, Cersei took the time to be thankful. Ever since Harry was born, her life had turned around completely. Hat she had always thought it would be…? It was! Robert was truly hers, she had wonderful children, and she was queen. She had family, money, and anything she could possibly ask for.

And even she could clearly see that Harry doted on her.

So, as she sat at her place left of her king, love, and husband, she patted her son’s cheek before he took his own place at the man’s other side and prayed to whatever god ruled from above that he would have a life far better than hers.

"Welcome, one and all!"

The crowd roared its approval. Joffrey and Cersei were both left quite unimpressed with the sheep that they had the  _good fortune_  of calling their citizenry. Harry and Robert, on the other hand, felt their heart warm a bit at the reception to the announcer's words. 

"This tourney is being held in honour of Prince Hadrian's five-and-tenth name-day! May he have a joyous and long life ahead!"

Harry stood and waved to the crowd, bowing, then firmly sat down in his chair.

"You won't be speaking?" Robert whispered to his son, trying to appear inconspicuous. 

Harry pretended to quietly laugh at something his father said while whispering back, "I'm not in the right mindset now to speak."

Robert frowned. "What happened?"

"It... is nothing." Harry quickly responded. "Keep up appearances, father."

Robert rolled his eyes. "I don't know what's the point. Everyone is watching the parade."

It was true. Although, his mother (seated on his father's other side), and his brother (seated further still, hand idly patting Tom's scales) did seem to be whispering to each other as well.

"When you think someone is watching you the least without assurances, it is then that you can be certain someone's gaze is upon you." Harry whisper-parroted.

Robert laughed, hand finding Harry's own. "You read the books I gave you last week already?"

Harry just gave him a look in response.

"Right. Silly question." He coughed.

Harry bit his lip, causing many of those who were watching him to suddenly find it slightly harder to breathe. "I do have something to talk to you about... After the tourney. In private."

Robert was suddenly very interested in the parade of House Banners. "Is that so?"

"I think I know why King's Landing smells worse by the day." Harry explained. "And I have a schematic for a machine that can purify water for the peasant folk far faster than they can draw from a well, which would improve agriculture."

"Oh... right..." Robert sighed in disappointment and released Harry's hand. "I'll call in a small council meeting. They're always interested in your knick-knacks."

"You were impressed by the printing press, admit it." Harry smirked. It seems incest ran in all the families here. He nonchalantly locked eyes with many in the crowd and revelled in the secrets he was discovering. "I seldom meet someone who is not impressed by one of my creations."

His father resorted to immature grumbling. Harry scanned the long line of banners to see if he was right and was not disappointed. 

House Stark was absent.

"Pouting does not become a king, father." Harry chastised. "You will see your direwolves soon."

Robert turned to regard his attractive son fully. "Did you acquire the gift of prophecy when I was not looking?"

"Oh father, surely you jest." Harry smirked back with confidence. "Whatever I say has come true ever since I first spoke."

"And now, my dear folk, shall we begin the tourney! As usual, we will be jousting!"

"How dull." Harry remarked, outwardly smiling his most charming smile. "Oh, I see uncle Tyrion. How mad would our mother be if I were to abandon my chair to meet him?"

"Very. Don't do it." His father asked. "Let the imp be where he is with that squire of his... you can meet him after the tourney."

"That's unfair, he's rarely here." Harry almost pouted. "And that's his squire? He looks... unreliable."

"House Payne may have that air about them, but their prowess in combat and in bed is legendary." Robert grunted back.

"Legendary prowess in bed, you say?" Harry murmured, eyes zeroing in on the Payne boy and waiting.

It was as if it was meant to be, and their eyes met. In the next moment, his glazed over. He almost mechanically rose from his position next to Harry's uncle and made his way out of the stands.

"I'll return quickly, father. I require the refreshment room." Harry said, and tried not to be hasty as he made his exit.

"Get me some celery!" Robert barked, and the maid waiting on him scampered to obey. 

When Harry returned twenty minutes later, it was with an expression of pure bliss etched upon his face and with a funny walk. Robert, an expert on such things, almost immediately knew what had happened, but held his tongue for when he would be alone with Harry. It would not do for the next King to be even remotely suspected of such activities. He was not feeling the shallow burn of jealousy at all. 

Meanwhile, at his side, Harry was almost high. Great prowess in bed, indeed, he was tempted to kidnap the man for himself. But he liked uncle Tyrion, and he was not going to rob him of his most trusted squire. 

Still, he thought, watching said squire return to his seat in a confused daze, maybe once in a while wouldn't hurt.

As the time passed, Harry barely watched the tourney at all, although he did leave to go to the 'refreshment room' again, although this time it was to liaise with two female twins instead. He noted his father's pursed lips with quiet amusement - the man had noticed him follow after the twins and them return with a funny walk a few minutes later... from the same washroom. 

Twins, at the same time, were a precious resource, and far be it for him to not utilise one properly. 

The tournament passed, and Harry soon paid his unusually stiff father no mind as they walked down the hallway toward the Council room at the end of the tourney. Unsurprisingly, it was House Clegane that won, with Gregor the-Mountain Clegane having led the winning streak by far.

The man was quite the brute, to be sure. Not one for many words, and not quite the looker either, but he had... powerful hands. 

"I know what you were up to, during the tourney." Robert said without preamble and cast a sideways glance at his son. "I disapprove."

"Father, cunning does not become you." Harry responded, equally as blunt but in a far quieter tone. "You are a man of action. Were I to do something you would truly disapprove of, you would have struck me then and there. So that leaves two options - either you are angry who I did it with," the boy said, raising a finger in the air, "or you are not angry at all, but simply... envious."

Robert remained silent.

His son observed him. He really did look like an older, broader Renly. Having really cleaned up his act, you could tell the two men were brothers. The only odd man out now was Stannis, but the difference in his looks could be attributed to age. 

The youngest almost felt like laughing. 

With his magic back, he could coerce anyone, and then control their will or wipe their memory if he must. With his magic, and no policing body or forces to fight against, he could be a god. But no, he much preferred to rule from the shadows, as he did with Voldemort. 

Soul magic was not without its cost. With every animal that he possessed in the Albanian Forests added to the act of inhabiting a homunculus, the self-titled Dark Lord actually used up tiny slivers of his soul to power each act since he could not access his magic in his shade form. Considering that the Horcrux ritual he used split the soul exactly in halves, he was left with the tiniest peace after all these concessions were made. When Harry absorbed all the Horcruxes instead of destroying them...

Well... let's just say a meeting of the minds between the two of them brought a nightmare for the entire world. With Voldemort having the barest sliver of a soul to stay alive, Harry was able to exert his will and control the man from the shadows - having the man once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle rule the magical and muggle world and be the target for all the hatred and attention and fear, while he was free to do as he desired… at least for a while. It was freedom Harry James Potter coveted, and it was the freedom that being the son of the King gave Hadrian Baratheon that he would never part with. 

"I will leave the interpretation to you." Robert said curtly, walking ahead.

Harry tilted his head and continued at his own pace - he had something to actually ponder now.

Why was Robert attracted to him?

He knew that his birth in this world was never meant to be. If it was not for the means by which his soul had left the mortal plane of the previous world he lived in, he would have passed on into the afterlife... into hell. He was not a good person at all, of course. 

But being this proficient with runes and arithmetic had allowed him to divine what could have been on several occasions when he was curious.

For one, the Greyjoys and the Iron Islands would still have existed.

It wasn't too far-fetched that the Greyjoys, denied the victory in rebellion they so dearly sought, would attempt another. Only this time, they did so in fear of some strange omen that their god 'the Drowned Man' brought to them in the drops of a maelstrom. How much true this was, Harry did not know, but it took all the might of houses Lannister and Baratheon, and their vassals to end them. The 'War' of the Last Ironbearer, as the bards now called it, lasted for three weeks, but what long weeks they were.

Were Harry not to be born, they would have survived in far stronger a strength than they were now – last dregs of a once mighty civilization clinging to their past. 

For another, Joffrey should have had one brother and one sister, instead of the single brother he had in Harry. He could not divine their names, but he did know that they were essential to fate spinning the way it should have. He was not one to believe much in the butterfly effect, but his divining did tell him there would be consequences down the line. 

There were several such effects that he had observed, both inconsequential and far-fetching, but Robert's did not make sense. His presence was not meant to change someone's sexuality. 

He pushed these thoughts aside as he entered the Council chamber. He had work to be done. 

"You're here." Robert grunted out. "Let's begin. What have you to tell us?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at his father but turned to address the gathered men. His eyes roved over Renly quite obviously, and then passed over the heads of Stannis, Pycelle, Petyr, Varys, and Jon in rapid succession. Barristan wasn't there, as usual. 

"I'll speak my piece and leave quickly." Harry spoke equally as curtly. Varys arched an eyebrow, and Hadrian ignored him.

Where Jon and he shared a caustic relationship (or one at all, considering they didn't even speak since the man found him untrustworthy for no single reason Hadrian could pinpoint), Varys intrigued Harry to no end. It took little digging in the man's mind to know that his forced castration during a ritual by a novice warlock had seen him touched by magic. Never having seen a half-squib-half-wizard before, the young Baratheon was intrigued with the possibilities of such a union.

"The stench in our city." Harry began, unfurling the first scroll he had brought with him. "What do you make of it?"

"Have you brought us here to discuss shit, boy?" Jon jeered. "The overpopulation of this city ensures-"

"Someone is disposing of bodies in the open," Harry spoke over him and slammed the map down on the table. There were specific areas marked in red ink. "The sewers of our city were constructed ages ago, yes, but they were planned by a man of strong mind and will. They should be adequate for a population even double the size of our current one. In these areas, the stench is the strongest but crime is also the lowest. People move a bit easier, eat a bit more. Someone is trying to help the citizens the wrong way - by killing off people in an effort to lower the population levels. It doesn't help that the guards don't patrol these areas because of the stench, or some other excuse."

It was Petyr Baelish who drew the map closer to him first, while the rest thought in contemplative silence. "My my, your grace. I wasn't aware you took daily excursions into such places of... ill repute."

Harry smirked. "That's rich coming from yourself, Lord Baelish. Have your... Houses... been endorsed by the Great Sept when I wasn't looking?"

"How do we catch this person... or these people?" Renly quickly interjected, eyes darting between Petyr and Harry with weariness. After all, their verbal spars were known to be downright acidic at times. 

"I will request that the council leave that to me." Harry said, then quickly raised his hand when Jon turned his incredulous expression towards him. "I understand why you may think I am inappropriate for the job, but just because you think it so, does not mean I actually am."

"What can one child do against a subtle uprising, I wonder?" Stannis asked, face as impassive as always.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "A 'subtle uprising' is too negative a term, uncle. I'd prefer to call it... astray good intentions."

"You haven't answered the question." Robert interrupted. "The guard can investigate as they usually do and drum up the culprit in time. You have no place in such a plebeian task."

"For any normal serial-killer, yes." Harry began, ignoring the confused flickering of eyes at the term he used. "However, this one, or this group, is far too smart for mere city guards. Or even the Lannister guard, dare I say. The murders have been going on for long enough to allow the smell of bodies to hang over the city like a dense cloud. The missing reports have maintained the same trend as they normally have unless someone has been tampering with our records. No one has raised a ruckus about missing members among the nobility, which means only the peasants are being targeted. Our man may as well be in the upper echelons of society... This all can amount to nought but one thing - the killer is a smart entity, not to be underestimated."

"But you are smarter?" Varys spoke, eyes glinting. "Is that what you are trying to establish, your grace?"

Harry just smirked. "Do I have permission to investigate?"

The men at the table exchanged loaded glances. Harry knew that they all knew (even the Arynn, for all his vitriol) that he was capable of puzzling this out on his own if he did all this by himself. The reluctance was in terms of his safety. 

If only they knew...

"One month." Robert spoke, then, to the obvious reluctant acceptance of his advisors. "You have one month to deal with this. If you cannot find the cause, it will be delegated to Varys himself, and you'll join the Alchemist's Guild."

Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. After finding out what he did of the history of that guild, he still hated them with a fiery passion. "And if I do catch them, I request a boon in compensation."

"A boon?" Petyr asked, arching his eyebrow.

"A request of my choice, to be claimed at any given time, that my father cannot refuse. It will be within reason, of course, but I will not take no for an answer." Harry spoke, casting a subtle compelling charm on the gathered men with his eyes. He absolutely needed them to agree, that was the whole point of all this.

"Very well." Robert agreed and raised his hand to stall any protests, of which there were none. "But I will only grant you this boon, if you will accomplish this task within two weeks."

"It will be done in one." Harry countered, then presented another scroll. "I wanted to explain this schematic but be rest assured it is a contraption that will enable mass purification of water from the sea to grant more for agricultural purposes. Construct it exactly as drawn, no exceptions. I'll depart now to work on getting that boon." Harry smirked, and bowed before leaving the room entirely.

"You were successful then?" A voice quietly asked from his side, and he was unsurprised to find a disillusioned Joffrey at his side, all of a sudden.

"They accepted my conditions. Now all I have to do is 'find' the culprit." Harry said, smiling as he absently cast a privacy bubble around them, allowing his brother to drop his spell.

Joffrey did as much and smiled a wicked smile. "If only they knew that the culprit truly in the wrong was standing in the very same room with them and that the actual problem  _was_ the sewers, which you took care of when we were children."

"They need not know that." Harry smirked. "All they need to know is that I will find the culprit and get that boon."

"You could have 'coerced' father if you wanted, in order to allow him to do as you wished." Joffrey pointed out, sounding confused. "You could rule us all, if you wanted, with a mere snap of your fingers. Why don't you?"

Harry eyes him for a few moments before he answered with a question. "Tell me, brother, is it more satisfying to see someone beheaded, or do the deed yourself?"

"Doing it yourself allows you to be involved, so it is just far more amusing." Joffrey answered in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Exactly." Harry nodded. "Where would be the fun in using magic to get  _everything_  I wanted? It would get boring too soon, and I fear for the sanity of this world if I lose my own."

The two brothers shared a wicked smile.

“And besides, a week is too much for what I need to do anyway.” The older brother muttered, crossing his arms behind his back. “I already have a patsy in mind.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“A bastard of our father.”

Joffrey halted suddenly, eyeing his brother with shock. “Our father…? But he loves mother!”

“He is a year or so older than me.” Harry said, waving his hand in placation. Internally, he was amused. He should ‘discover’, someday, who exactly his brother’s father was. “I have also heard tell that father was… in a wrong state of mind during those days. And we’re all human – making mistakes is in our nature.”

Joffrey eyed him shrewdly. “Then… the reason you are targeting him is…?”

“Agency.” Harry shrugged. “He is older than me, Joffrey. And I will not take the throne, ever. If he were to learn of his heritage and appear one day to contest your claim…”

“Then let me help.” Joffrey said, eyes glinting. “The Iron Throne is to be mine, by your will. Any who can be a hindrance to our machinations are to be… dealt with. Painfully.”

Harry chuckled, and threw his right arm over his brother’s shoulders, gently tugging him to resume his walk. It was an awkward motion, considering Joffrey was taller than him. “This is why I love you, brother. But be rest assured, I have everything under control. All you have to do is watch – you will have your fun when is his buried in our dungeon.”

Joffrey sent his brother a warm smile and turned his head to the front. If his brother believed it would be easy, then it would be so, and he had no reason to question it.

He was not disappointed a few days later.

"... clues eventually led me to conclude that the culprit resided in the blacksmith’s house. Since the man is currently out of the city to exhibit his wares in the other kingdoms, there only remained one name: Gendry. It was a hypothesis I confirmed when I spoke with him – throughout our conversation he showed signs that tied him to the mentally ill, and I eventually had to force him to calm down. It was then that he confessed - he did it because he is your bastard, and in some twisted sense, wanted to help you, uncaring of how many lives went to waste or how much blood he spilt. He was apparently influenced by some other killer in the past – after all, the stench around our city has not only existed ever since you reign, your majesty. All in all, the ravings of a sick mind. It is my opinion that it is best he is confined as soon as possible."

Harry concluded and stepped back from the man in question, rendered almost completely insane by his judicious use of the Cruciatus and Legilimency in equal potency. On Robert's left, Jon Arynn was going through the 'proof' he had been given with increasing rapidity, going paler by the second, perhaps because he had ignored such 'obvious' and 'clear' signs. Harry had personally overseen the work of his minions, after all, and he was thusly sure that nothing was amiss. 

Robert, on the Iron Throne, looked every bit as weary as he did before. Harry thought he was a good man but had done too many mistakes in the past. And now, what he was trying... No one manipulated him. Not a soul should dare. Hadrian had been used enough during the beginning of his first life that he swore to never be used again. But still, Harry wouldn't push. He would wait to see where this went on its own. 

Cersei, at his other side with Joffrey, looked completely impassive. She had not missed the tension between her son and her husband in the past few days but wouldn't get an answer from either of them on what was wrong. Harry then proceeded to subtly plant illusions in her mind that it was all related to this case.

It was why she currently wasn't speaking with Robert, and worried over Harry at nights when he pretended to be hard at work going through records and finely scanning clues, as opposed to the day when he was out in the very areas he had marked the other day, disguised in peasant clothes and dirt on his face. 

Joffrey let nothing show except disgust for the accused in front of him. It was only Harry who could see his hand impatiently tapping his side, the slight movement of his lips to show that he was silently muttering to himself. Well, it was taking forever for Robert to open his mouth and declare the case closed, so he could understand the sentiment.

The noble-people behind him watching the proceedings, as well as the guards on duty were shifting too, agitated by talk of what has passed. Harry did spin the most terrible he could think of while still in the realm of credible possibility. And so, he spoke of the insanity this blacksmith's child fell into once it was revealed to him that he was the King's bastard by a now-dead party. A gripping tale of suspense, horror, and family drama...

"Have him hanged." Robert finally spoke, causing the crowd to hush. "If his crimes were less than murder, I would have him examined by the Maester but..."

"Take him away." Jon spoke to the guard. 

A quick unnoticeable Imperio on the bastard had him howling. "But father! Aren't you pleased? I did this for you, father! Answer me, father!"

Harry inwardly smirked as the emotional toll of the words hit all present, his mother and Robert especially so. Jon Arynn levelled his father a concerned glance, but the King of the Seven Kingdoms only had his head in his hands.

The Hand of the king cleared his throat to gather the attention of the populace. "Dismissed for the day."

Faster than even the common folk themselves, Cersei stood and made her way out of the court, Joffrey sending Harry a look and following soon after. Then left the people, then the excess guards. 

Before Harry could speak to begin his pretence as a concerned son, Jaime wrapped a hand around his shoulder and gently escorted him away too. 

"Uncle-"

"Save it for your room."

Harry fell silent then and resisted the urge to read his Uncle's mind. What was life without a bit of danger and intrigue?

The walk to his room was brisk and silent. Harry stole a few glances of his uncle but was only rewarded with a stoic visage. He had almost forgotten what it was like not knowing something... He missed this thrill.

The door to his room was thrown open and he was pushed in the direction of the bed. 

"You're a fool and a half, something I never thought you were." He hissed, closing the door and advancing on the teen. "The moment you found out it was Robert's bastard, you should have brought the matter to him in private! Now Cersei is in a rage and Robert is in a depression!"

"I didn't know you cared so much." Harry muttered nonchalantly, standing. "Or is that more than simple concern for my parents, I hear?"

His uncle grabbed him by the waist and slammed him against the wall. "What was that?"

"I know about you and mum, uncle." Harry smirked, boldly trailing a finger down the side of the man's face. "I know that Joffrey is truly yours, and I know that mum has been denying you for a long while now."

The man remained silent, looking into Harry's eyes. 

"I also know that it was her eyes you fell in love with, and it is my eyes that draw your love now." He continued. "Did it make you feel lust today, the way I was in court? Did you like my commanding tone, the way I held every eye in that court as my mother does?" His hands worked the straps of his uncle's armour deftly as he spoke. "Did you bring me here under the pretence of punishing me while you left my father alone to wallow in his guilt, and my mother alone to stew in her ire against him?"

Jaime Lannister kept silent and didn't shake off his nephew's hands.

"Or could it be that you truly are here for me, anyway? Did the kiss on my name-day stir something within you, something that thought you'd never even know?" Harry smirked, and pushed off the chest piece of the heavy Kingsguard armour. 

"You are either a mind-reader or frighteningly intelligent." Jaime huffed, and his stoic visage morphed into a saucy smile. "So, which of those options do you think it is?"

Harry pretended to think. "I'm unsure. Let me get back to you on that." Then blew the nearby candle out.

It was weary next morn when Harry grimaced as he closely came to consciousness. It was still dark out, and he cast a  _Tempus_  to find out it was earlier than 0500. Priming the time smell to work here had been a goddamned pain in the arse, but he was able to set up the planet ward... albeit with a few dozen or so sacrifices.

He cast a look over his shoulder at Jaime, who was curled up around him, almost like a cat. Harry smiled as he stroked a strand of hair back. He could almost see what his mother saw in the man. And it wasn't like he was above a good fucking, even with his own sister, as he had done in his past life. 

If one were to look upon his actions from an outsider's neutral perspective, there wouldn't be a second's hesitation before he was burned at the stake, magic or no.

He gently removed his uncle’s hand off him, slipping out of bed. Stretching and yawning, a simple spell had him clean of sweat and other fluids and smelling of peppermint. He pondered the issue as he dressed in his smallclothes. How many times had he tried to rework the spell to get him smelling of chocolate instead? Ladies seemed to prefer the smell of chocolate over mint of any kind... 

He sighed as he bent to do on his trouser fastenings when two pairs of hands beat him there. 

"And here I thought I was the one meant to be out of bed before my partner." Jaime's crisp voice spoke in his right ear, thick with sleep just so that it sent shivers down his conquest's spine.

"Perhaps, my valiant knight, you are getting rusty in your old age?" Harry whispered back, shrugging his hands off. "Get dressed. You need to be out of my room before the early morn servants come in to wake me."

"How rude of you, crowned prince." Jaime teased, holding his bare chest where his heart would be. "Is this how you will be when you are king?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I won't be king as long as I breathe. Joffrey will be, and I will be his Shadow."

Jaime instantly lost the light air and the few wisps of sleep that still hed him. "What?"

"When the time comes, I know how to play my cards, uncle." Harry chastised the man, who seemed to be shocked. "I will not be king, for the responsibilities that come from it are not to my tastes. I will, instead, offer Joffrey my advice and... deal with his enemies."

The Lannister seemed to find his plans... arousing. "So, your eyes are not the only thing you have inherited from your mother."

Hadrian rolled his eyes. "Get dressed and get out. I don't want to have to explain to my father why my uncle is in my room. Naked. At this hour in the morning. And he is sure to be drinking now, as unable to deal with his sorrows as he is."

Jaime didn't seem bothered with propriety as he dressed. "And are you going to go comfort him like the good little son you are?"

"Why, uncle, you seem to be able to read my mind!" Harry gasped, doing the last of his fastenings. "How mystical of you."

"Hardly." Jaime scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "I simply know how to read true Lannisters. My father may be the best tactician and my sister a cunning manipulator... even Tyrion has a silver tongue... but me, I am best at reading people. A look at someone and I can understand them thoroughly."

"Is that so?" Harry played the sceptic. "Then what do you read when you see me?"

"Aside from one of the most sinful bodies I have ever touched?" Jaime asked rhetorically but pulled Harry in to whisper in his ear. "I wouldn't be surprised if you tortured a commoner every day in order to get a peaceful night's rest."

Harry grinned. Now, this is the thrill of life he enjoyed! "How accurate. And look! You can see the blood splatters on my wall even now!"

Jaime looked at him like he was crazy and was probably about to say as much when there was a knock on his door.

"My lord, please wake! Your father has asked for you!" A voice spoke. Harry recognised it. Jehna, one of his father's handmaidens. Fair hair, tan skin, spot on the left side of her neck. 

He absently wondered if there were any other spots on her body.

The knock sounded again. "My prince, please!"

Jaime seemed frozen in tying his cape on, so Harry sighed and walked to the door. 

"What in seven hells are you doing?" Jaime demanded. 

Harry simply turned to smirk at him, before he opened the door and cast a  _Confundus_  on the poor maid.

"Leave after three minutes or so, uncle." Harry stage-whispered back to him, and the poor man was staring at him and the maid in confusion.

Ah, the entertainment.

Harry sent the poor maid off to her quarters to sleep it off before making his way to his father's study. In all the situations he imagined, less than half had his father calling him to his study. Perhaps to demand of him why he did such a hurtful thing? Or perhaps to find a shoulder to lean on, since he obviously either hit or yelled at his mother enough so that she was in a right fit. 

When he walked into his father's study, he froze on the spot.

This... was not something he anticipated. 

"Baelish." Harry greeted, tone carefully neutral. "This is an odd time to give my father company."

"Ah, Harry." Petyr greeted him, eyes cold and a mocking smile on his lips. "You've grown so very cold over the years. Wounding your father's pride in the middle of court! How amateurish!"

Harry didn't bother with subtlety as a flick of his wrist sent the doors and windows of the room banging shut. "Have a care of what you speak, you whoremonger." He hissed. He’d just been pulled away from something he was enjoying – banter. His mood was not foul, but neither was it pleasant.

"Why? Your father is well beyond passed out. He only had enough sense to call for you beforehand... although I do wonder how your mother will react when she learns of exactly how he feels about you!" The man spoke to himself in mock-delight. "Oh, what a shame for House Baratheon!"

"Watch your tongue lest I cook it in your mouth." Harry spat. If his mother were to realize the truth, her world would come crashing down. He could not and would not, allow that. It seems… Baelish had outrun his entertainment value.

"Ah, but you can't perform any magic on me, can you? Not until I have that special little trinket with me." The other man smirked. "And here I have you, right where I want you! Oh, the things you will do for me- urk!"

He suddenly found himself choking on blood with a letter-opener lodged in his throat. 

"I don't need magic to do that, Little-finger." Harry muttered, and watched as the light left the man's eyes. He had not spent all his time solely on his magic skills, after all. In his other life, he was a marksman of unparalleled skill and had wished to cultivate that little useful titbit again. "Good riddance." 

He rifled the man's pockets for the object he sought, and almost hissed at the burn when his fingers brushed against it. 

Fossilised Ghostgrass from the Shadow Lands.

He bore the burn with nary another sound as he stood and threw it into the hearth. All his exchanges with the infuriating man would have been so much easier without that blasted thing in his possession. Oh, how he longed he could depart for the Shadow Lands that very moment and set  _Fiendfyre_  lose upon the region! While nothing could harm him yet, in this world, Ghostgrass could, as he had discovered less than a year into teaching Joffrey when Petyr and Pycelle attempted to coerce and blackmail him at every turn. Now that the sole immunity to his magic that they shared between the two of them was no more than strange silvery motes of vanishing light in the hearth-fire, he was free to do with the Arch-maester as he wished.

He turned and sighed at the right state his father was in. Shaking his head, the man is cleaned of food droppings and wine spills with a snap of his fingers, and a wave of his hand repairs the room and the furnishings the man must have broken in a trade. He turns the corpse of Petyr Baelish into a goldfish and tosses that in the fire too, for good measure.

"Now what to do with you..." he wonders, staring at the man who sired him.

It was about a month later that Harry unburied himself from the womanhood of a random serving girl and collapsed on the bed next to her. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs in the afterglow of the wondrous night he's just had.

So, it is quite understandable when he almost breaks her hand as she attempts to hug him.

"M- my lord..." the girl (for he has forgotten her name) whimpers as his hold on her reaches painful proportions.

He ignores her and instead turns to the darkest corner of her room, smirking lazily. "Are you hungry, my child?"

From the shadows a skeletal hand emerges, reaching out for him in response.

He nonchalantly reaches with his other hand around to snap her neck, and with a wave of his hand, she's flung into the corner, vanishing as soon as her skin comes in contact with the hand.

Harry smiles indulgently as he hears sounds of crunching and flesh tearing. "There, there, now. How many times have I told you to return home to actually eat?"

A whimper emanates from the corner.

"That's alright, apology accepted. Now run along!" Harry says, waving his hand to direct the creature away as well as vanish the serving girl's clothes.

He's right on time it seems, because as soon as both the acts are complete, there is a knock on his door. He arches an eyebrow and reaches for his cloak to shrug it around himself while casting a Tempus to note it was right around the time that his nightly visitor usually entered.

He put on an indulging smile as he let the cloak slip past his shoulders and into the crook of his elbow as he opened the door.

Suffice to say he was pleasantly surprised to note that it wasn't, in fact, who he expected.

"Father." He greeted, smiling indulgently, opening the door wide. "Come in. Make yourself at home."

His father seemed unsurprised to see him garbed as he was, and he easily ignored the urge to read his mind. Life had been so much more interesting when he didn't use magic in social interactions... It was thrilling.

The man eyed him from hair to toes, before storming into the room and sitting on his bed. Harry ignored the blunt way in which his father acted and moved to poke the hearth instead. "Tell me - to what do I owe this visit?"

And it was a surprise indeed. After the revelation he had given light to around his five-and-tenth name-day, his father had been quite distant. He never laughed or smiled in his presence again, and frankly, it amused Harry. He knew very well what his father was planning, and it was so amateurish even a newborn could look through it if she tried.

His mother never had a problem with him at all. She was still close to him, and he still respected her for the life she had led. In fact, nowadays, she was trying to set him up with the Tyrell monkey. It was annoying, and he quite suspected she wasn't serious about it at all, but simply teasing him for his reactions... which were extreme by Lannister standards.

"I want you to be the Master of Whispers."

Harry froze, playing the part of the 'very surprised, yet extremely grateful, yet weary prince'. In truth, he expected this to happen any day ever since he finally lifted the compulsion from Varys about not informing his father about him and Jaime two weeks ago.

He just didn't expect his father to convey this message to him at this hour.

"That's... strange." He admitted fully, standing up and turning around. "Where is the Spider?"

"Varys is dead." He said, bluntly. "Personally executed by me just a few minutes ago."

Harry's eyes widened a bit, truly not expecting that. He did account for Varys being imprisoned, or maybe even bartered with to keep his silence due to his father's near-fanaticism when it came to outward appearances these days. But not executed.

"What? Why?"

"Don't insult me." Robert snarled, launching out of his bed and pinning his son painfully against the wall. "I gave you time before you warmed my bed because I believed you would be opposed to the idea. But I hear your uncle has pounded you far more times than some wives get in their lifetime!"

Harry didn't squirm or display any outward signs of pain. He simply stared at Robert with a stoic gaze. "So that was the price of his life, was it?"

Robert stuck him across the face.

Harry had never been struck in his life. This one, at least. Bellatrix and the Lestrange men were all rough lovers, and the less said about Barty Jr. the better, so he wasn't exactly unaccustomed to physical violence. It grew to be one of his own kinks, actually.

But did anyone ever strike him out of bed? Well... If he said no, that would not be quite accurate. His bitch of an aunt had a habit of whacking him with the frying pan if he got anything wrong, and her pig of a husband was even worse with his garage-work.

Still, he didn't quite like it.

Robert had apparently been ranting while he thought. "-ever thought you to be a whore! Should I declare that, then? That my son is the whore of the palace?"

"Oh, father." Harry smirked, although he did swear revenge for when it was appropriate. No one hit him and got away with it. "You speak as though you wish your cock wasn't buried in me every time you fuck mother."

He probably shouldn't have said that, because Robert instantly turned red. With anger or shame, he couldn't decide. "What was that?!"

The younger one in the room simply tilted his head, reaching up to hold the side of his face, which was surely bruised. Even the touch sent the faintest hints of pain striking through the entire side of his face and neck. "I said-"

"I know what you said!" Robert bellowed, pulling him a bit forward in order of bang him back against the wall. "Don't play games with me, Harry!"

"Oh well, you haven't used my name in ages." Said boy smiled in a forced-fragile manner that he hoped worked, and it did! He studied enough faces in both his lives to know the strong emotions of guilt and self-loathing flash through his father's eyes-

Ah.

So that was what it was.

"So that is what's wrong, isn't it?" Harry purred, hands reaching out for his father. "You cannot come to terms with the lust you have for me."

Robert arrested the movements of his hands and pinned them against the wall but said nothing.

Harry took this as a cue to continue speaking. "It haunts you because you believe this is wrong, and the Sept would see you punished and stripped of all of your titles and such. Your name will be ridiculed in all the seven kingdoms as it was for those baseless rumours about Jaime and mother. You don't hate or resent me... you're just scared."

Robert was breathing harshly now - and Harry could easily detect the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath. It was remarkable that he hadn't gained back his former pudgy stomach, but the exercise routine that weasel Pycelle had prescribed him ensured he didn't.

That was probably partially contributing to Harry's mindset on this matter, because fat Robert reminded him too much of Vernon and he would rather blast him to his constituent molecules than lay with him if he were that way.

But he wasn't. No one ever said Harry Potter wasn't shallow. Is there a reason Hadrian Baratheon shouldn't be?

"But you see, father, you're forgetting one thing." Harry purred. "With Varys dead and me as the Master of Whispers, no one is left alive who could ever find out what happens within these four walls. Your masculinity is ensured, and your... sexual appetite can be sated. I know it's not loving, I'm smart enough to differentiate between the two. It's just lust..."

Robert's breathing did not calm.

"So." Harry awkwardly spoke after the longest silence. "Are you going to fuck me or should I mount you?"

His only response was the cruellest smirk he'd ever seen on Robert's face as he was flung to the bed. What followed was a night comparable to one with Rabastan only – but he was certain that if he ever did bed Fenrir, he would have had a much better comparison. His father had departed soon after they were sated in the twilight hours of the morning, in a far better mood than Harry had ever seen him, honestly, and the reborn wizard had to cast a lot of healing charms on his person to eliminate evidence of their… activities.

A few hours later, Harry felt it was long enough time that he had coveted from fate and made sure everyone now knew that Petyr Baelish had been a  _very_ bad boy. 

Immediately after he failed to show up for several days, an investigation had put underway. Robert didn't remember seeing him that night at all since he was too drunk, so the last time he  _was_  seen was by Varys earlier that day. Since the man was under the scope, so to speak, he threw himself into investigating his journals for at least some clue as to his whereabouts when it soon became apparent he wasn’t coming back.

They found it out then.

Petyr had been surreptitiously borrowing money from several entities. Of course, not all of them were baseless, but most of them weren't required to the magnitude they had been borrowed at. The Crown was an astonishing six million gold dragons in debt. While about two million of that - mainly from the Iron Bank in Braavos - was well grounded and had relevant proof of need attached, one million was grounded by false statements or unimportant expenditure notes. 

Varys then utilised his spy network to ultimately track down the vault which his estranged-at-times colleague maintained. While the debts were borrowed on dubious grounds, they were all already used in several kingdom-related expenses, more than half of which were the new factories and shipyards set up. Otherwise, the vault which they found would have been fit to bursting with gold.

Not that it wasn't a near thing, mind you.

Turns out, cooking the books wasn't the only immoral thing Petyr was involved in beside the obvious. Slave trade, gambling, even assassination... whores, of course, make for an excellent weak point in most men.

The money recovered was enough to repay most of the debts. The Iron Bank parted with the crown on good terms, the trading cartels left with good spirits, and any Houses who were reluctant to back the crown based on any debt owed to them were now in good graces. Even the Great Sept blessed Robert thoroughly when they received their gold back.

Of course, the damned thing was not unending, and thus little was left to repay the Lannisters, who had the lion's share (all the pun intended) of the debt worth three million dragons.

Harry came up with an excellent solution.

The post of the Master of Coin was now empty. They needed someone with a good business acumen, knowledge enough of finance and trade to fight words with words will all whom the kingdoms dealt with, oversee the laws and ruling of commerce, and, if possible, run Baelish's temporarily scrambled brothel-conglomerate/spy network/assassin hub.

Who better a man than Tyrion Lannister?

Harry himself was the one to propose to him this opportunity, under the approving smile of his mother. Not only would this ground the man, putting to rest his reputation of living life a bit too merrily, it would also give him a footing in the Game, something which his own father refused to do.

While he wouldn't begrudge the man his beliefs, alienating your son because of uncontrollable circumstances was something he just didn't like – it hit a bit too close to home. 

The long-thought-useless son, of course, accepted. Jon Arynn approved of the dwarf's appointment and oh was that a surprise – since the man never approved of anything Harry did if it wasn't an invention that made life easier. (Except the steam train. He was vehemently against it because it would 'make the common folk lazy'. The entire council ignored him.)

But now, Harry grinned as Tyrion was lecturing the council on how making Harry the Master of Whispers was the best thing they could ever do.

Renly was smiling openly and even winked very conspicuously at the new appointment. Harry winked back. Things with him didn't quite work out how he thought they would. Renly had fallen in love with his squire, Loras Tyrell, the monkey's brother (boy, had he choked when Harry called her that). Harry didn't care enough about a younger Robert lookalike to break them up, and he was far too intrigued by the show they put on when they thought they were being inconspicuous in public. After a year or so of this madness (which often sent even Joffrey into a fit of laughs), Harry sat the two blushing paramours down and taught them the difference between inconspicuous and conspicuous. Needless to say, he was now good friends with both of them and even took care of any nuisances that wished to sow trouble against them, if any showed up.

Stannis too, approved, as was obvious with the small smile he wore. The boats he was so proud of a year or so ago were archaic compared to the ships that made up naval armies Harry raised tsunamis against in his past life. He knew designs of better ships by memory and thus submitted plans for them readily. No one knew that the 'coal mines' he had ‘discovered’ were actually filled to the brim with permanently transfigured coal (originating in the form of sand, if you'd believe it) and the second oldest Baratheon brother was happy to be in the command of the known world's most advanced fleet. A runic matrix secretly woven into each engine of these ships ensured that the carbon footprint would be negligible even after hundreds of hears, and, in the event that it turned out to be too much, he would handle it personally - he had time enough to devise plans for a new philosopher's stone, even if it seemed impossible at the moment.

Harry glanced over at Pycelle with amusement. The man was reduced to shaking in his boots, and yet he wouldn't give in. After the wizard managed to destroy that blasted trinket that nullified his magic, Pycelle was fair game, but he wouldn't sully his hands with the filth, he thought. So, he sent his children to... convince... The man to take an early retirement. The boy was surprised he was still sane.

His eyes passed over the empty seat quickly. Barrister Selmy still wasn't here, something that had to change. The man may not desire to have a say in politics, but he had a keen mind - if anyone could point out anything that these other buffoons missed with any amount of regularity without drawing undue attention, it would be him.

"-gratulate you on your new post, dear nephew, and hope that you take the brothels off my hands... The girls are too dazed after a night with me to cater to many else!"

Harry caught the tail end of Tyrion's little speech and snorted. "I'm sorry uncle, but I'm afraid they'll simply have to develop resistance to your charms. No, I will be asking for my own force."

"We can't spare any men for you." Jon groused. "Barristan said the guard are spread thin as it is, and anyone else would have to be trained properly."

Harry examined his face coolly for a moment, telling the man with his face alone exactly how much he appreciated his interruptions. "As I was saying, I will be asking for my own force to train. If you recall, father, you owe me a boon for the case I solved previously. I will be asking that of you now."

"What is it you want?" Robert asked, but his tone was much kinder to him than any had heard in months, and that brought Pycelle up short – how amusing. 

"King's Attic. The tower that has been in disuse. I want to refurbish it. I'll cover the costs and manpower personally. I'll visit the brothels across King's Landing and hand-pick a hundred whores, who I will train personally to be the best quick-footed assassin's you will have ever seen. They will deal with our enemies without the need of wasting our armies while they grow in number and train harder under the leadership of the best of the Kingsguard." Harry explained in a curt tone. "I will accept nothing from the treasury - I will cover the costs of this see nave for the food by myself. If all goes well, our military might will be far beyond what anyone has seen in years… I’ll speak to Ser Barristan myself about training our infantry troops."

There was silence at the table for the longest minute while everyone pondered the thought. Hook.

"And what would they be capable of, your grace?" Jon asks, and Harry is smug to note that the man doesn't sound against the idea at all. 

"They would be capable of stealing the very table out of this room without us noticing." Harry smugly spoke. "Or stealing the crown off father's head during a session of court. Or assassinating in such a manner that their target would pass into the Stranger's arms long after they have fled the scene."

"Those claims seem a bit far-fetched." Stannis contradicts, but Harry recognises the tone of his voice. Line. "But let us say that we give you this ... chance. How long would It take for it to start bearing fruit?"

'The KingsBlade would be ready for duty in six months, no more and no less." Harry spoke, standing. "And I already have a good idea of their first task."

"Which is?" Renly asks, eyes practically glittering with curiosity.

Sinker.

Harry gave them a vicious smirk. "Tying up a loose end the lot of you left - the true end of the Greyjoys."


	3. Episode 3 : Fall beyond the cover of clouds...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weakest illusions are often the strongest.
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 months.

"Mother."

Cersei looked over her son as he entered her chambers. Slowly rocking Myrcella, her mind unwittingly flashed to think upon the past year.

Ever since his appointment as the Master of Whispers, he had grown quite... distant. Where before he delighted in her expressing his love openly, he now shied away from it. He rarely smiled, and even her monster of a brother was beginning to express concern. Everyone believed that they had laid an impossible task on his young shoulders, for there had never been a member of the Small Council apart from the King as young as him.

But none could deny the changes he had wrought upon Westeros.

The Steam Train that he had fashioned now runs the fastest, most direct link between the capitals of all the seven kingdoms – Dorne was a sceptic but allowing of the connection. Distance never seemed so small at the speed that ghastly looking contraption travelled. More and more explorers now depart to search the world beyond marked borders for treasures to be used for the good of Westeros since the advent of what many are beginning to call the Age of Contraptions, where more and more industries and even homes are beginning to rely on contraptions that run on various forms of heat. The cures for several diseases now reside in a single pill, the recipe of which is known only to her prodigious child and the Order of Maesters. As the populations of the various cities rise, her son is now attempting to do the impossible and construct even taller buildings as opposed to larger widespread towns (the reasons he cites are something to do with natural balance, but she can never understand his words).

Yes, life has changed on Terra, as they have begun to call the world, now.

Cersei pulled herself out of her thoughts and smiled at her son, although it turned a tad forced after she got a real look at him. 

His appointment as Master of Whispers saw a change in his wardrobe. He now exclusively wore greys and blacks, and never any colour. Even now, he wore fitting black slacks, with a grey shirt underneath a long black leather coat. His badge showing proof of his post was pinned to his left breast pocket. The coat had a large leather hood, which was pulled up, and he wore leather gloves and boots too.

"Oh remove that monstrosity from your head." Cersei chided. "Let me get a look at you."

"Jon Arynn is dead, mother. Your secret is safe. May I take my leave?" Her son spoke instead, and for once in her life, the female Lannister was unsure of where she stood with her son.

It was a slow descent, one would say. 

Over time, Harry's duties kept him busy, especially so for the first six months after his appointment while he 'attended to his obligations'. Even her husband wouldn't tell her what he was doing. Was it not only natural that she tried to overcompensate and see for Joffrey more than him? 

And then when he returned! He had a horrified air about him as if he had been haunted by a spirit for the entirety of the six months. She had asked Jaime to talk to him since they had seemed close before, but the man shrugged helplessly and reminded her that, in spite of what Harry might show the world, he was not truly an open person.

So, she tried her best to do her job as a mother the only way she could think of – going immediately to Robert to protest Harry's appointment. 

She didn't know what else to do! It looked like her son, her firstborn, was wasting away and it had all begun after that darned post!

But then things changed.

Harry expressed hurt at her belief he couldn't handle his post. He sat her down and, after swearing her to secrecy, told her of the KingsBlade. He told her of his unbelievable tale of training them from whores to denizens thriving in the shadows, and that it was a lot of hard work. 

He told her that the Greyjoys were no more. Even the one who was held hostage in Winterfell under the pretence of fostering had passed away quietly in his sleep. 

She was terrified.

Where was her happy, sunny, forever cheerful Harry whose biggest problem was deciding what he would eat for lunch, due to the sheer variety? And who was this stranger who spoke almost stoically about ending an entire House and their vassals, that almost entirely populated a set of islands?

She begged at him, pleaded him to give up the post and return to his old life, to train to be king instead... but he refused.

He refused the Iron Throne.

He instead asked her to train Joffrey for it, because although he would wholly ensure Robert never died (and something struck her as odd then, how he never used her name but oftentimes used his father's, but she ignored it thinking of council-room matters), if there ever came a need for one of his sons to take the throne, it would be Joffrey and not him. 

When asked the reason, he said the most horrifying words she could ever hope to hear from her son. 

"I'm more your son than father's."

She never wanted her children to live as she did.

A Lannister is brought up the epitome of cunning, yes. But the way in which they were raised was more emotionally scarring than most. Aside from Jaime, her childhood was nothing but trial after trial, that forged her into the woman she became today.

Which mother would want that for her children?

Against all assumptions of how she would raise her blood, she abandoned all pretence and became for them a true mother. She put them to sleep, fed them from her hand until the age of five, even. She told them stories at night and ensured they never wanted for anything, especially love, during the day.

So why was her son exactly like her?

This time, she went straight to the Small Council when it was in session to appeal to them to let her child go from their clutches.

Each of them looked at her as if she was mad, but Harry only smiled at her sadly.

That was around two-and-a-half, and they had not spoken since.

"Harry, please." She requested, setting a now asleep Myrcella down in her crib. "Don't make me beg."

The boy visibly startled in surprise, as if he were astonished his mother still cared for him! Astonished! If it was surprising that she cared for him, then she had failed as a mother. 

But still, he complied. 

He lowered the hood to show messy white hair and sparkling green eyes. The specks of light green that dotted his own were now only more prominent. She frowned when he seemed to stop at that but smiled when he lowered his face mask with a sigh.

"Mother, I dislike being without my mask." He complained, and she compared it with any complaint he had made to her in the past... It wasn't whiny, it wasn't unreasonable, it wasn't immature... her son had grown all up.

She approached him and held her arms out with a hesitant teary expression on her face and was surprised with how fast he almost leapt into her arms. She felt something wet stain her dress and was able to draw the appropriate conclusion.

"I'm sorry for doubting you, my son." She whispered, running her finger through the messy strands of almost straw that he called hair. "I never should have done so."

"I know you acted for what you thought was my safety, mother." He spoke, without a sniffle or a sob. "But it wounded me to know what the person for whom I could raise mountains did not even have faith in my lesser miracles."

"I see your overconfidence is the only part of yourself you have kept from your childhood." She berated, leaning back to get a look at the firstborn of the King. "But it suits you."

He wiped a tear from his eye and smiled. "I hope that this ends all the complications between us?"

Cersei nods tearfully. "Your uncle, Renly, came to speak with me. He sat me down and explained what this meant for you, and who you said you were doing it for. Your father, too, interceded on your behalf halfway through."

"They shouldn't have told you." Harry said with a heavy blush.

"Hush. You'll always be that same small baby I birthed no matter how tall or old or wise you become." Cersei smiled and released the hold she had on his arms to walk around to her dresser. "I did get something for you as an apology. I hope you will accept it."

She handed him a glistening steel blade almost as long as half her height if it were straight.

"The smith who I gave the order to forge it to said it was impractical when he saw the design. When he forged it, he asked for the right to make more of these." She said, in a smug tone. "I refused."

It was wickedly curved, with 'thorns' jutting out in regular intervals on alternate sides. The hilt too was curved, allowing for even the most unconventional of grips. 

"Backbiter." Her son breathed. "You kept my early drawings?!"

"Of course." She said in an almost offended tone. "I'm your mother." She added in way of explanation.

It was something she decided when her son first tried his hand at art. The only things he seemed to draw were what one, at first sight, would call utterly impractical blades, be they long or short. When the first servant mirthful informed him that they would be night impossible to wield, and he got tears in his eyes... well, she had the servant flogged. And from that day on, she sat with him when he drew, and marvelled at the visual appeal of his drawings rather than the practical aspects. And it was true - whether with charcoal or ink, he proved delightfully gifted with his hands.

The blade he held now and called 'Backbiter' was a drawing he made after some fantastical dream he had. She still remembered his tale vividly, of Gods and Titans and the son returning for revenge. She had recommended he write them as stories and publish them, but he told her he would not have a market for such tales in that day's world.

She was brought back to the present when he initiated a tight hug this time. "I promise you, mother, I will raise your head up high one day. You will never have to lower your gaze to the ground because of my actions."

"I know, my son." She smiled, and pulled away from the hug, knowing she looked visually flustered. "I tire of these emotional talks. I will now revert to my ice-queen self." She spoke in an imperious tone in an attempt to draw put a humorous reaction from her son.

It worked. "If you make me laugh any louder, I fear Myrcella will wake."

She sobered instantly. "Neither you or Joffrey were as fussy as she."

"But neither were we as precious." He countered with a smile, as he ghosted over to her crib to gaze upon her. 'Ghosted', because his footfalls were inaudible. "Look at her - she's the most beautiful girl in all the nine realms. I will have great joy in pushing men away from her when she comes of age."

She simply rolled her eyes. While she could say that out of all her children, he was the most visually appealing to such an extent that she received betrothal proposals from when he was only five, she wouldn't – he didn't like being reminded he looked absolutely fantastic. "You will be accompanying us to protect her on our trip, will you not?"

"I will always protect my family, mother." He spoke simply as if it were a well-established fact. "And regardless, the Starks are an honourable sort. Downright exasperating with their talk of family and virtues and blah, but... They have a certain charm."

"A certain charm?" She teased. "So, which of them have you seen before?"

He coloured brilliantly. "I have no idea what you are speaking of."

"Of course not, my dear." She says, smile conspiratorial. The eldest daughter was around his age, was she not?

The steam train named the Pride Line pulled into the North station next morning with a loud hiss and honk that was sure to wake up his sister, was she asleep. He smiled as Jaime complained about the noise to the other KingsGuard and made his way towards him.

"Thank you for gifting us with this blasted thing, nephew." He grumbled, leaning out of the window momentarily to shout something at the horse-master before leaning back in. "I didn't see any of your lackeys on the trip."

"The KingsBlade are the very shadows, uncle." He smirked. "If you were to see them, they would have failed their purpose."

He shivered. Oh well. The sword and shield of the King never really mixed well. After all the work he did to bring Ser Barristan Selmy into a small council meeting, he regretted it immediately when the man pounced on him for creating the KingsBlade. If they handled all the crime and investigations and the true guarding of the king, he believed the KingsGuard would be reduced to mere decorations and teachers for the lowly grunts of the army. Harry had to spend most of the meeting under the amused expressions of his father (and the gleeful one of Jon Arynn, when he lived) to explain that the purpose of the KingsBlade was to be out of sight. While the KingsGuard would visually protect the king and rebuff any thought of violence, in the palace as well as in the streets of King's Landing; the KingsBlade would do so from the shadows and outside the city limits. Their purpose was to act as the, well, blade of the king, which he could wield wherever and whenever he wished without care for consequences...

"We should bring out the horses for the ride to Winterfell." Jaime muttered. "Can't well expect people to walk a few kilometres, can you?"

"Why do you get so agitated on the train?" Harry asked, amused. He was sure his uncle's claustrophobia was tied into some training event in his childhood, but it was fun to watch the man dance around the answer.

True to form, the man's face paled and he shifted uneasily in his trappings. "I simply feel strange surrounded by metal."

Harry gave him a deadpan look. "You're garbed in golden armour."

Jaime just shifted uncomfortably.

"Let's disembark, already!" They both heard Robert's voice from somewhere down the train. "And where in seven hells is my son?!"

Harry quickly glanced up and down the train and got on his tiptoes to peck Jaime quickly on the lips. "You're cute when you're flustered."

Jaime grabbed his waist and buried his nose in the crook of his neck. "You're a frustrating brat."

Harry easily danced out of his grip, causing his uncle to growl. "You just like me that way." He cheekily threw over his shoulder and vanished into the passageway.

His smile faded as he made his way away from the man, a cruel smirk taking its place. Playing him for reactions was almost as entertaining as-

"And what has you so pleased this early in the morning?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he turned to regard his brother, Joffrey, absently brushing away the negligible amount of dust from his robes with magic. "Are you still angry father has banned you from joining the KingsBlade?"

"I don't understand why he would do that!" Joffrey muttered, strapping his dagger to his thigh and setting his overcoat over it. "It's not like members of the KingsBlade forfeit titles like the KingsGuard do. I can still be a King with the skill of-"

"An assassin?" Harry interrupted. I may dress it up in council meetings or in front of mother, but that's what we are. We have assassinated far and wide - our blades flash in Essos as well as Westeros-"

"What is so dishonourable are bout being an assassin?" Joffrey demanded, but quietened down when they neared their parent's carriage. "I just wish I was given the chance."

Harry paused when he heard the tone and turned to regard him with a disbelieving expression. "Do you really think that act is going to work on me?"

Joffrey's expression instantly cleared, and instead, he wore a small frown. "It was worth an attempt."

"Why are you so intent on joining the KingsBlade?" Harry asked, studying his second friend. His first was long dead, used to create something far more than his existence would ever amount to, and neither human was sad about that. "It had to be more than that training - I can train you whenever you ask-"

"I simply wish to be a part of something larger than myself."

Harry did his best, he really did. But the most he could hold out was five seconds before he burst into laughter. Knowing that he could not keep his presence outside the door quiet any longer, he walked in, followed by a scowling Joffrey.

Seeing him laugh so loud, Myrcella started giggling, too. Harry soon focused only on her and laughed, her joining along with him.

Ah, yes. After ending her incestuous relationship with Jaime and falling in love with who she really should be getting fucked by, mother soon was with child. Nine healthy and proper months later, she birthed a beautiful baby girl, with chocolate curls and warm brown eyes. Even Joffrey doted on her, such was her charm, and Harry could not resist amusing her by manipulating whatever she wished...

Even if it was the hair of a screaming maid.

"Oh, sod yourselves." Joffrey pouts, going to sprawl on the luxurious seat beside his mother. "Help me deal with these simpletons, mother."

"Joffrey!" chastised Cersei. "You must learn to deal with these simpletons in your own time."

"Mother!" Harry protested, scandalized. Even his sister seemed to view her in a new light.

"Idiots, the lot of you." Robert said, fondly. He then made to stand. "It's time we do what we came here to do and be done with it. I'd rather we be back by tomorrow morning."

"But, dear husband, do you truly believe the Starks will let you go without holding a feast?" His wife asked, rising with her daughter carefully held in her arms. "Your friend, Eddard, especially-"

"Is Catelyn not your friend, dear?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I'd sooner send my children off to the wall than take her as my friend." His mother frosty spoke, which surprised everyone there.

"What has she done to garner such hatred from you, mother?" Joffrey asked, head tilted. No one could blame him - none had ever seen Cersei Baratheon as infuriated as she was now after considering a simple idea.

"It is I'm the past, my love. Best not to speak of it." She smiled and moved closer to the horses.

"Be careful, father." Harry whispered to Robert. "Something tells me that some form of atrocity will occur during this visit."

"I agree." The man sighed. "Cersei is a passionate woman, as expressive in love as she is for a grudge. Are your men on standby?"

They will be as faithful as our own shadows." Harry said simply. "If the Starks attempt anything, or if a simple situation should escalate, they will handle the details quietly." Harry raised his mask and hood. "Let us away. Mount your horses, lads!"

While the KingsGuard travelled with the family on horseback, the KingsBlade used the treetops to traverse the distance on foot. They were easily able to keep up with the fast horses and carriage, thanks to their training. Harry himself was the highest above, watching everything with his keen gaze.

When the outer walls of Winterfell were in sight, Harry dived from the trees and used the branches to slow his fall as he landed on top of his mother's carriage without a sound. In a display of flexibility, he opened the carriage door and leveraged himself in using the very edge of the roof.

"We are nearby, mother. Brace yourself." He said and gave Joffrey a meaningful look. If there was anything he could do when Harry wasn't around to protect the family, he should do it, but without unveiling their talents. Joffrey, in turn, gave him a look that clearly went along the 'are you kidding me' vibe.

"It has been years since I last visited this hold." Cersei spoke, as the walls were now finally visible to her as well. "The thing I most vividly remember about it is its Godswoods. The one in Kings Landing was planted during the reign of the last Targaryen king, but this one has been untouched by man for close to ten thousand years. It is revered by this who still follow the Old Gods as the holiest of all places to be."

Harry's eyes widened. Untouched for thousands of years? That meant the trees here had to be influenced by the ambient magic in the air, there was no other possibility. Maybe he could finally find the wood needed to fashion a staff for himself – he had been cut off from his true potential for far too long.

Winter Town, a charming little village before Winterfell, was quite alive. The little houses were lit alight on happiness alone, it seemed. Sounds of laughter and merrymaking were heard, and Joffrey looked out with a scowl on his face.

Well, to each his own, he supposed.

The keep proper was intimidating. There was no much sun here to cast warm daylight upon the walls and grounds. The little light that did filter though the heavy clouds only served to show how much the Starks seemed to prefer greyscale. He had read once that the keep was made mainly of granite, so that was okay, but why we're the people dressed in such dull colours? Is the region that poor?

When the carriage came to a stop, he waited until he could hear his father's laughter before opening the door.

He felt the weight of numerous stares as he descended the little add-on stairs to the carriage and held a hand out for his mother to take. She smiled indulgently at him from within the carriage but that smoothed over into a cool facade when she emerged out into the grey light.

"Ah, and there she is - my love!" Robert laughed.

"I do not see your eldest... Hadrian, yes?" The man who had to be Eddard Stark asked, eyes scanning the bodies who exited the carriage, an almost involuntary smile lighting his face when his eyes landed on Myrcella. "And I suppose that's your daughter?"

"Ah yes. Harry, get that damned hood down, boy!" Robert groused. "You can resume your duties later, now is time for meeting and greeting!"

"Duties?" Asked the woman next to him, and from the slight stiffening if his mother's posture, he gathered it was Catelyn Stark.

"Ah. Um-"

"Father regards my adoration for mother as duty at times." Harry smoothly interjected, lowering his identity-concealing garments to many a gasp and whisper. "It is good to finally meet the Stark family. Father has spoken a lot of the close relationship the two of you shared, Lord Stark, but I have never seen you at any of the Royal Tourneys...?"

Eddard shook the hand he offered with a knowing look. "It is good to meet you as well, Hadrian-"

"Harry, please." Said boy smiled. "Hadrian makes me feel like I am in for a good scolding." He then turned to the lady. "And may I know who this beautiful snow nymph is?"

The lady seemed more amused than anything. "Your son is just like you at his age, Robert." She said, smiling softly. "It's good to see you, dear."

"Likewise, my lady." He bowed and kissed the offered hand. "May I introduce to you my brother, Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name?"

He gestured towards his brother, who nodded curtly. "A pleasure." He drawled, much to Harry's amusement. He could easily spot his mother fighting a smile. Hmm… it seemed she had softened under the care of three children.

"Ah, and you haven't introduced to me your children, Ned!" His father groused, almost as soon as his own eyes landed on the group of what looked like a mismatched yet well-put-together set of boys and girls. It was a good misdirection. "Could that possibly be Robb, your eldest?"

And so, the introductions went. The eldest boy was Robb, followed by a very girly daughter Sansa, then a tomboyish girl Arya, a curious looking child named Brandon, and apparently also a babe named Rickon, who was within the keep.

"Speaking of which," Harry spoke, raising his hood and mask, "I daresay my dear sister might wish to feel warmer as well."

"I shall escort you into the Keep myself." Catelyn smiled. "Come along, Arya, Sansa!"

"Joffrey, go with mother." Harry whispered to his brother as they walked into the keep. "I'll look around a bit."

"There are too many places to watch for." Joffrey murmured back, posture nonchalant. "And do you feel that? It's like-"

"A massive magical presence?" Harry asked. "I'm not sure, but I'm adequately hedging towards it being in the Godswoods. We will investigate it tonight - this cannot go ignored."

"So, we are staying, then?" He asked with a pinched nose. "I dislike it here - it's too cold."

Harry smirked at him. "Cast a warming charm." He simply said and proceeded to walk into a nearby alley. He then apparated silently as soon as he was caught in no gaze.

 

His feet touched the stones of the highest place he could stand – the crown of what looked like a dilapidated tower. He took the time to take in the beautiful view of the scenery laid in front of him before he spoke, seemingly to no one. “Have the lot of you taken positions around the area?”

“Yes, my lord.” Came an answering voice, and out of thin air behind him, a person seemed to emerge. “We were well in pace before you unmasked yourself.”

“Don’t remind me.” Harry groused. “How uncomfortable, exposing myself like that in front of those beneath me.”

The figure simply remained silent.

"I want you to scour the area around us. I'm sure you lot have felt the vibrations too." Harry sighed, turning to regard him, finally, and shaking his head. "Warn Lorna that we may need her to use her Greensight on the area around us. There seems to be a great tragedy that occurred here oh so many years ago."

"Yes, my lord." The figure in front of him spoke. Nothing of his or her face was visible, not even its eyes, which was covered with spectacles made of the darkest glass. Its hair and the rest of its face was covered with a single black cloth-piece, while its mouth and jaw were protected with a metal jaw-protector. It wore light-looking dark grey armour, over midnight black clothes, but nothing much was distinguishable.

"Don't disappoint me, Olyvar." The Master of Whispers hissed. "I brought with me only those I could trust. Aside from Hyrenn, who is taking care of King's Landing while I am away, you are the only one in the KingsBlade that I trust. Don't make me regret it."

"I live to serve, my lord." Olyvar bowed his head deeper, before vanishing back into the shadows. A short and almost inaudible crack sound was heard a moment later.

Harry sighed, looking out over the scenery again. This was not true intrigue – this was the boring shit that leads up to it. Oh, how he longed for something interesting to occur… ugh. With a snort, he let himself fall behind, spinning mid-air in order to deftly grab at available handholds to control his descent down. Odd – that seemed like quite the safety hazard for foolish men or eager children to keep around. Matter of fact, why, exactly, was Winterfell in such a state of disrepair still? Had Robert not yet managed to convince Eddard to borrow money from the crown to mend it all?

As his feet touched the ground, he heard a small giggle. He dusted himself off, before looking at the sky for all of a second. "You can come out now, whoever you are." He spoke out loud, turning and facing the direction from which he could hear two girly voices whispering.

Lo and behold, out emerge the girly girl Sansa, and what is bound to be either her maiden or a fellow lording’s lady.

"Greetings, your grace." Sansa smiles, and they both offer curtseys.

Harry has a sudden urge to shake her and teach her the harsh reality of the world, but he presses it back. He bends forward and reaches for her hand instead, which she daintily gives forward to kiss. "My lady."

She blushes from the neckline of her gown to the roots of her hair, and Harry has lived long enough to know that she will grow prettier than her mother one day. "We simply wished to speak with you, but since it looked like you were busy..."

"Ah." Harry nodded. "Snow is very rare south of your borders, you know. I found myself wanting to admire the area."

Sansa seemed to truly smile at that. "I'm glad to find yourself comfortable here your grace. It would be my pleasure to give you a tour of the keep."

"Ah, but my dear lady, the pleasure would be mine, for I would be escorting such a beauty as yourself." Harry said, turning on his charm and winking at the girl. "And, of course, this lovely flower here. I know Lady Stark, but you are...?"

"Of no consequence." The girl quickly smiles, and bows. She whispers something into Sansa's ear that makes her blush again and makes her way away. Harry does not need to signal his servants to follow her to observe what she tells others.

"Ah. That is a relief." He says and turns to the Stark Lady with a mischievous smirk. "I wanted to find a way for us to talk in private. Now it seems, we have all the time in the world."

The girl blushed. Harry was finding himself quickly and perhaps irrationally annoyed at how much this girl was blushing. "This way then, your grace."

"Harry, please." He corrects, offering his arm for her to weave hers into. "I'm not one for titles."

He feels two presences following them as they make their way out but keeps mum on the subject. "So, tell me, Lady Stark, while we're on our way to wherever it is, about yourself?"

Sansa straightened a bit at that. "I'm the second born of my father and am pleased to say the more ladylike when compared to my sister, Arya. I am proficient in sewing and mathematics, and adequate in art and-"

"I'm sorry my lady," he interrupts, "forgive me for saying this, but you speak of yourself like an object."

She looked at him a bit sharply. "Excuse me?"

"You, my lady," he spoke, gesturing to one of the clouds in the sky that actually looked like a bird, "are a human being. You have emotions and feelings. When I asked you to introduce yourself, it sounded like you were selling me the idea of yourself. I wish to know what you like and dislike, what your favourite pastimes are, or the best moment of your life. I am willing to offer this information about myself, as well."

Surprisingly, she didn't blush this time but did smile the truest smile he had seen on her face. "Well, then why don't you begin?"

"Before you woo our lady," a male voice sounded, rushing at him, "you must spar with me!"

Softly pushing Sansa away so she stumbled out of harm's way, Harry grabbed the man's shoulder and cartwheeled over him, then used his own momentum against him and launched him back whence he came.

"You are a very, very bad boy." Harry smirked. "Here I am, just speaking with your lady, and you attack me in some twisted male display?"

He knew what caused the boy to act so out of character, however. He could sense Joffrey's magic all over the boy. Oh, so he was getting bored too, was he?

The boy looked dazed as he stood, mostly because Harry had just broken the spell of impulsiveness Joffrey had put over him. "My apologies, your grace."

"It's alright, a little bit of wine would do that to anyone." Harry commiserated.

"That was ... wow." Sansa said before she could compose herself. "I mean, your grace! I mean, Harry! I mean-"

Harry chuckled as he watched Robb stagger away from the corner of his eye, casting a weak compulsion on him to sleep. "As you can see, my lady, I most enjoy the art of combat. It is my favourite pastime. Either that or thinking of new things. It interests me greatly to observe how the world works, and thus learn it's many mysteries."

"That sounds amazing." She said, a bit wistfully. "In the castle, I am usually encouraged to spend my time reading, or sewing, or other things most girls do. And I do my best to excel at them! But sometimes..."

"Sometimes?" Harry asked, offering her his hand again.

She blushed as she took it. "I really shouldn't, Harry."

"Well, it is a long walk to the Godswoods." Harry hummed. "And I shall be oh so very miserable if I do not learn what troubles you so."

"It's... Arya." She sighed in way of relenting. "I do my best at everything! I sew better than her, I sing and dance better than her, and my handwriting is better than hers! Yet... everyone offers her more of their time than me! I just don't understand it. If she were to go ask dad for archery lessons, he would send for a tutor immediately. But it is only long after I beg after and I beg that he summons new bolts of silk for my dresses, or a new tutor for a different type of dance!" She sniffs. "Sometimes I think that they just don't love me as much as her."

Harry sighed heavily. So here was the root of the matter. If only the world's parents knew how to fulfil their roles before they birthed children, the world would be a better place. "My lady, if I may speak freely?"

She nods hesitantly and doesn't even notice him changing their course back towards the Main Keep.

"Sometimes... being the norm is too... normal." Harry says, feigning having to fight to frame words. "Tell me, what is the most obvious thing about Arya?"

"That she wishes to act as a man would - fight, shoot, and ride." Sansa responded.

Harry shook his head. "Even before that my lady, is that she does not want to be as a lady should. She refuses to fit into the rules that have been set for her. Usually, such instances are prevalent in a less obvious manner - such as refusing to learn only a subject, refusing only to wear women's garments or something of the sort. What sets Arya apart, is that she has this mindset to the extreme. If you wished not to sew, would that make you an improper lady?"

"As long as I excelled in other areas, no." Sansa said, a thoughtful frown on her face.

"Well, is she any good at what she does?"

"She is better than Bran at archery, and almost bested Robb at a competition once." Sansa said. "She could not beat Jon, though."

Harry tilted his head curiously, a show – he already knew all about the royal family of Winterfell. "Jon?"

She but her lip but spoke anyway. "Jon is my father's bastard. It's a sore topic for mother, and I am uncomfortable talking about it."

"Then talk about it we shall no further." Harry said, absently noting one of the presences fall behind. Interesting. Was that Jon? "But I beg you to try to understand Arya's point of view. Why should she do something she he dislikes and is horrible at, in favour of abandoning what she is clearly remarkable at and loves? Maybe the reason all this started is that she was horrible at her classes, but she hears her father praising her brothers for their skills, and sought to learn those, at the very least?"

Sansa remained silent as the keep came into sight.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, my lady." Harry quietly apologized. "But I could not help myself since... I see my brother in her, to some degree."

Sansa reared back. "Prince Joffrey?" She asked, surprised. "How so?"

"My father has always attempted to get him to hunt, you see." Harry began. "However, Joffrey dislikes ending lives. He pales at the very sight of blood. Instead, if you handed him a violin or a lute, your ears would be privy to the most beautiful music in the world. If one were to ask him, he would say he prefers bringing something beautiful into this world rather than take away from it."

"Prince Joffrey… enjoys playing music?" She asked, just to be sure.

"Do not be fooled by his cold exterior, my lady." Harry smiled. "The best of us all wear masks. It takes but only a little skill and a lot of cunning to look beneath."

She pursed her lips and gave him a sideways glance. "You are not what I would expect of from a great inventor."

"I aim to please." The young Baratheon smirked.

She withdrew her hand and crossed them, faking an imperious pose. "And how you do know that I am impressed, your grace?"

Harry beamed. "Because I am very cunning." He said and roguishly smiled. "Now, I'm unsure as to how you will go about breaking the norm - because let's face it, that's what you're going to do first thing. But I do know that if you happen to travel to King's Landing with your father, then I may know a way you can break every single rule and norm in the world."

Her eyes widened. "How?"

He simply smiled and walked backwards, away. "To find that out, my lady, you must first come to King's Landing, and then be my friend."

Her eyes widened, and she mouthed 'friend' as he turned away.

"Working your charm, I see."

Harry smirked. "Ah, Joffrey! Just the man I was looking for."

Joffrey put on an alarmed expression. "Brother?"

"Come here you little rascal! I feel like giving you a manly hug!" Harry beamed, and began chasing his brother.

"Someone, save me from this simpleton!" his brother screamed in distress.

Harry simply laughed a full, cheer-inducing, tooth-rotting laugh that would enforce a boyish-image of himself upon all who heard it. He stopped abruptly, and, predictably, Joffrey ran on without pausing.

“I see you two are close.”

Harry turned to the voice to spot who he knew to be the eldest of the Stark children – Robb, if he was not mistaken. “Yes, I suppose we are. He knows my thoughts as well as I know his heartbeat. We are almost the same.”

“With your intelligence being the thing that separates you, your grace?” Robb asked, tilting his head as his eyes blinked with curiosity. “I have heard tell of the contraptions you have outfitted the nation with. Nothing bad, I assure you – but since we have nothing of your make besides the one station a few kilometres from here, I’ve had to rely on second-hand accounts to draw on their description… and yours.”

Harry smiled a warm smile that had the boy in front of him blushing with embarrassment. “I assure you, Joffrey is every bit as smart as I am – was he only applying himself…” he trailed, forcing a wistful expression on his face. “But he opts for his instruments to be graced by his hand rather than the quill, so I suppose the world will never see his own brand of wonders. Also, please,” he smiles genially, “none of the formality. My name is Harry, and you must refer to me as such – just as I will call you Robb.”

“Your grace.” Jaime spoke right from behind him, and Harry faked a light jump on purpose, to play off the normal prince. It amused him if the small smile on his lips was anything to go by. “If I may have a moment of your time…?”

“Of course, Ser Jaime.” Harry nodded, and turned back to Robb, holding out his hand. “Here’s to our new friendship, Robb. May it bid a good fortune for both our holdings.”

Said boy smiled in equal intensity and took his hand. “As are my sentiments. I look forward to seeing you at the feast tonight.” He said and bowed out.

Harry turned back to his uncle and arched an eyebrow. “What is it, uncle?”

A hours later, he moaned pitifully. It was lost in the guttural moan his uncle gave, seated deep within him as he completed.

"I really needed that." Harry sighed, resting his head against the wall.

Jaime, too, panted and rested his head in the crook of his neck. "You were more than willing." He agreed.

"It was that Stark girl." The younger sighed. "She just... riled some gears up."

"It was ... strange ... seeing her with you." Jaime admitted, his hold on Harry's waist tightening. "I wanted to rip her arm off for daring to hold yours."

"Oh, my, uncle. Are you developing feelings beyond the simple laying of two bodies?" Harry smirked, unwinding a hand from his partner's neck to trail a finger along the older man's jaw. "That would be... complicated, would it not?"

The man pulled back to look him in the eyes. "Would that be so bad?"

Harry finally gave in to the urge and used a subtle prod of Legilimency, just to test the reliability of his claim. He was confused when he realized the man was not falsifying the claim but was not disclosing the full truth either. What kind of half-lie would be disclosing love – that he hated him too, or that he loved someone else at the same time? "Maybe... not." Harry whispered back and pulled him down to kiss him lightly on his lips. "I'm a hard person to handle, uncle."

"I'm sure my experience in the matter is satisfactory." Jaime grinned that crooked grin he always did.

Harry tilted his head. "Is this why you haven't been to any brothels lately? Because it isn't me, no one else works to sate you?"

"How do you- oh wait. Master of Whispers. Right." He rolled his eyes. "Just don't go spreading that bit around. Everyone will be on me to find out which lovely maiden has stolen my heart, then."

"I won't." Harry beamed, then reached up to bite his ear. "I wish we had more time tonight..."

"We'll have all the time in the world once we get back to the Red Keep." He whispered. "Just make sure you don't let go of yourself... too far." The man chuckled.

Harry unwound his legs from the man's waist and pushed him away. "Now let us be away. I do not want to delay the feast a moment longer, lest we have to stay another day."

Jaime rolled his eyes and turned to do the straps of his armour proper. Harry debated, while adjusting his own clothing, whether or not to mind-rape the man, but decided against it. This just made things more interesting, didn't it?

"I'll see you at the great hall." Harry threw above his shoulder and fell forward through the air.

For just that moment, nothing mattered. It was just the sky and him. It was his home, and he vowed to practise flying more often when he had the time.

But then the moment ended, and he grasped the brick above him to scale the wall down. He also made a mental note to introduce to the Stark patriarch the risks of having such dangerous footholds. If one of his boys were to get a taste for climbing, they could fall! By mistake... or otherwise.

He touched the ground in less than ten seconds and made his way to the hall wherein the feast was to be held, preparing himself for the night mentally, putting up barriers for certain memories should he succumb to drink. Should he even indulge in it? Hmm... The events of the day were too much out of the norm... A drink wouldn't be amiss.

He quietly entered the hall. Amongst the revellers, it was as easy as pie to disperse his presence in the crowd. He took his seat at the head table before reaching out to serve himself and pushing his hood and mask down again. "What did I miss?"

Joffrey, well used to such antics, simply rolled his eyes. Cersei, on the other hand, startled herself so badly she nearly dropped her drink. "Harry! When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago." Harry nonchalantly said, taking a bite of his baked potato, and washing it down with wine. "This alcohol is too light." He noted.

"You drink." Cersei said, a little lightheaded. "I didn't know you drink."

"Oh, mother." Harry snorted. "There are too many things you don't know about me." Then he stood up. "Anyone have anything stronger than this piss?"

There was a sudden hush in silence. He caught Sansa staring at him with horror etched on her face and smirked.

"So, the wee little lad thinks being a prince means being a man." Said someone in the crowd, though the voice was raspy with age. "Put him through the gauntlet!"

"Gauntlet! Gauntlet! Gauntlet!"

Harry grinned into the chant. He turned to his father in askance, and the man mimed a beheading. Hmm... so no one believed he could take it? Time for some fun.

"Harry, don't!" Cersei tried to talk over the crowd, but Harry let himself be carried with it and down the podium onto a table near the centre of the hall. Plates were simply thrown down by already inebriated patrons, and a series of six glasses were set in front of him. The first was filled with something he could safely identify as a form of beer, the second whiskey, third vodka or gin, and the other three were mysteries.

"Drinking a single type of alcohol is easy. Any piss poor excuse of a boy can do that!" Spat the same voice. "But it is only a man who can survive all six types of alcohol in Westeros in one night!"

The crowd roared in approval.

"I myself took the gauntlet when I was your age." Robert said, coming down from the podium. "I spent three days and nights under the care of a maester, but I survived!"

"So has everyone in the KingsGuard." Piped up Jaime from... somewhere in the crowd.

"And now... tonight... The son of the Legendary Baratheon King Robert the First, shall tackle the gauntlet, and either prove his worth or collapse into a pathetic heap!" Someone in the crowd crowed.

The entire hall became filled to the brim with cheers.

"Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!"

The glasses were half the size of anything being held by everyone else, but Harry well remembered the perils of mixing alcohol from his first life. At first, he assumed they were trying to kill him, but then remembered that these people were sons of alcoholics, and they were sons of alcoholics in turn. Generations of heavy drinking must have given them some form of resistance or something. And regardless, it's not like it was easy to get him drunk! With the number of rituals he did to get his healing factor back, it would take only a mixture of-

Oh.

Shit.

"Me and my big mouth." He moaned inwardly.

Harry found himself not very drunk five glasses later, actually, much to the astonishment of almost everyone present. After he finished the last one (filled with something black that smelled vaguely fruity and tasted absolutely foul called 'Stout'), every on watched him for the longest while for a reaction.

"I'm not even close to being drunk." He proclaimed. He then placed a hand on the table and easily performed a single-handed handstand to provide proof. "This piss is absolute piss."

Eddard Stark had his mouth open in pure shock. Everyone else wasn't far behind.

"Hail the new champion!" shouted a random male patron.

The entire hall clamoured with cheers in return.

For an hour after that, Harry almost continuously chugged type upon type of alcoholic beverages - some mixtures, some home recipes, some secrets that no one told him details of, and some even extremely aged treasured kept safe for a moment such as this.

He managed to reach a state that was a little bit beyond tipsy. His body was continuously processing it and even if his head began to spin, it was back on its axis within minutes.

He finally had enough and simply grabbed a chicken leg as a trophy and walked out.

The air out at night was almost frigid, but the alcohol in his stomach kept him warm without the need of a warming charm. Instead, he cast one on the leg he pilfered and walked up to a bench by the campfire.

Another man was there. As he got closer, however, Harry realized the man-boy had to be something around his age, only taller, broader, and actually having a beard.

"A dragon for your thoughts?" Harry said, no king the man on the head with the leg and handing him it.

"I'm surprised you're still walking." He said quietly, eyes roving his face. "The cheers of the crowd could be heard from all the way out here, and they don't cheer for lightweights."

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Did you ever take the gauntlet?"

"Failed thrice." The man huffed. "Honestly, it's like they congratulate you for poisoning your body."

"Life is indeterminate. You may not wake up tomorrow. Why not live to the fullest?" Harry asked instead.

"Those are some wise words." The other said.

"Uttered in person by Oberyn Martell. One of the more attractive men I've known." Harry admitted. "Too self-assured, though. It will be his downfall someday. If you are confident in yourself, you should have the skill and focus to back it up."

The man eyed him for the longest time. "Jon. Jon Snow."

"Ah, you must be the bastard." Harry nodded. "My name is Hadrian Baratheon. But call me Harry."

His eyes widened. "They posed the gauntlet to the Crowned Prince? The keep is going to be rife with female screaming tomorrow."

Harry grinned at Jon. "That's going to be so much fun to watch. They're going to be hungover as hell, and they'll have to deal with angry women. Ha!"

"Did they not already turn in for the night an hour ago?" Jon asked, stoking the almost dying flames. "I heard the catcalls too."

"Ah yes, as soon as I passed the gauntlet." Harry nodded sagely. "Did not want to see me drink more, they said. I think my mother and your stepmother bonded past their hatred for each other a bit over that."

They sat for a few moments in companionable silence.

"Why are you all the way out here?" Harry asked after some time. "They're having the time of their life in there."

"I'm not allowed in such festivities." Jon said bitterly, kicking a stone into the now dead flames. "Who told you I was a bastard?"

"Sansa." Harry said shamelessly. "How does no one see how spoiled she is, by the by?" He absently summoned a random full drink bottle from the hall behind his back and handed it over.

Jon stared at it for a while before shrugging and grasping the neck of the bottle. Popping the cork off with his mouth, he gulped down a huge sip. "Not sure. Something to do with her being a lady I reckon." He handed the bottle back.

Harry just took a sip and passed it back. "So, what do you do around here?"

"Anything Lord Stark wishes me to." Jon admitted, taking a gulp. "Mostly training his children, since I seem to be gifted in combat according to Ser Rodrik."

" I heard that." Harry nodded, accepting the bottle and gulping a big one before handing it back. "As is Arya, no?"

"Aye, Arya. She's... The nicest one to me here." Jon said, sighing. "No one treats me ill, but from the family..."

"Lord Stark must truly love you." Harry pondered. "Most bastards are killed, never acknowledged, or even treated worse than dirt."

"I know." Jon whispered. "I just wish..."

"That they accepted you like family." Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Shit. We're moping. Jon, I don't like moping."

"Then you should not have brought the drink." Jon smirked, taking a gulp from the bottle. "Last sip."

"Let's share." Harry grinned. Feeling a little bit bolder than normal, he grabbed the bottle from him. With a mighty exhale beforehand, he took all the remaining contents of the bottle in his mouth, and then smashed his mouth on Jon's.

The man stiffened at first, then sighed and opened his mouth, accepting exactly all of the mouthful. Even when they both had swallowed, they didn't break apart, and soon it turned into a heated kiss instead. Harry's hand found itself in Jon's hair and Jon's hands were on his waist, clutching at the leather he wore for grip.

Harry didn't know whether it was the alcohol or the massive magic signature in the Godswoods here, but he was feeling... strange. It felt like there was a part of him that he just found, that he just connected with. It was almost like...

They broke apart for air, leaning their foreheads against each other.

"You move fast." Jon panted, eyes closed.

Harry was in the same position. "I offer myself freely because I don't want to be broken."

"That's the strangest sentence I've ever heard." Jon chuckled. “If you offer yourself completely, you will be broken. I would rather not give myself at all.”

Harry hummed. "I hope you never find out the reason why that sentence makes sense to me."

They sat that way in silence for a few minutes.

"Jon?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You realize that if you don't take me elsewhere and fuck me silly right now, I'll have your head, right?"

Jon grinned, standing up after a last lingering kiss, and then lifting up Harry bridal style. "The question, my dear, is which one?"

Harry let his head loll back against Jon’s shoulder as he was carried away. He was not aware of where or what or how, but just… the man in whom he was ensconced. It felt like only seconds later that he was gently laid on a bed, and then there was a heavy weight on top of him that felt oh so delicious.

What followed was a moonlit dream. Jon was not as violent as Robert or as rough as Jaime but was a gentle as a feather caressing his skin, and that was an entirely higher realm of pleasure. It was one of the best nights he’d spent in this life, and he soon slept with a smile on his face, and his form almost covered by the man he had given himself to.

Harry never had to get used to the sudden feeling of coming to consciousness by magic. After all, it never had to be used on him. He never indulged in sleep-altering substances when something important was to be done, and his past-life familiar had known it would spell a lot of grumbling for whoever was the unlucky sod assigned to rouse him.

So, it was the same when he was woken up at an ungodly hour in the middle of the night. 

"Merlin's saggy ball-sack." He moaned. "Who bulldozed me?"

"Not to be rude," replied a female voice, and he instantly felt a cool sensation over his head and the heavy haze dissipated, "but I believe it was yourself, my lord."

Harry opened and rolled his eyes. "Lorna, I swear if you start lecturing me..."

"I wouldn't dream of it, my lord." The said redhead smiled mischievously, then sobered. "Of course, I may or be the one who is upset with your decision to get absolutely wasted when we have only a single night on our hands to investigate the Godswoods. I feel... something of great importance will soon come to pass."

Harry too grasped the severity of the situation, and with a gesture of his hand, his clothes vanished from various spots on the floor and appeared on his person, fresh and smelling of...

Why were they smelling so strongly of Jon?

"Let's be on our way." Harry said, studiously ignoring the almost manic smile on Lorna's face as she, too, made the connection. "Have the lot of you narrowed the search area down?"

The two leapt out of the open window, with Harry casting one last look behind him at the sleeping man before disappearing into the trees.

"Yes, my lord." Lorna spoke. "The Godswoods seem to be leeching our magic right off any outside spells we cast, however. We can only enhance our physical strength and displace ourselves, nothing more."

"Lead me to the tree then." Harry grinned, hastening when his guide did. "Have you uncovered anything else of note?"

"We haven't, my lord." The blue-eyes girl shook her head. "But Midas made a startling discovery when he scanned the family. The second-youngest male child, Brandon, and the oldest female child Sansa, both bear enormous capability for magic."

"How big are we talking?" Harry asks, intrigued. Internally? He was smirking. He knew his instincts were right about that girl...

"The boy has as great potential as Kenneth, and the girl... as big as Joffrey, my lord." That brought Harry up short. The reason Joffrey was so powerful was that he had been blood-adopted as his brother. But Sansa...

"We'll be taking her, then." Harry smirked. "The boy, too."

"The girl would be easy. They've already decided to marry her to you." Lorna shrugged. "It's the boy we should think of."

"Oh, okay then." He paused. "Wait. What?!"

"Ghabri-Ela overheard them after you escorted the girl to the castle. She said no one had ever paid as much attention to her as a person as you did." Lorna said, then smiled. "I'm sure your words made an impression."

"Oh, blast it. This is what you get for kindness…" Harry scowled. "I'll have to talk to mother about this... Is the boy the right age to be fostered off? A foster in the crowned house is unheard of, but I have a reputation for being the first to do many things."

"Including eating chocolate with pickles." Lorna shivered. "I just don't understand why you would do that, my lord."

"It's an acquired taste." Harry scowled. "Anything else of note?"

“There was a foreign magical signature, for just the barest of moments, at exactly the second you kissed the Stark bastard.” She shrugged. “I believe, however, that it was simply your magic reacting to the situation. Deyniri told me of how… passionate you were with other men, but this looked… pure. Intimate. I felt as if I were intruding.”

“I’ll bet you a million dragons it is the magic emanating from the Godswoods.” Harr grumbled. “Sex is not supposed to feel as good as that – it’s just not possible. There had to be something wrong.”

"Midas also swore to his grave that you would marry the bastard you laid with tonight." She hummed.

Harry tripped. "WHAT? Oh, when I get my hands on that scrawny little bugger's neck-"

"Why are you so flustered, my lord?" Lorna asked innocently.

"Well played, dear. Well played." Harry scowled.

It was then that they both hushed, for they were able to sense the magical source getting closer and closer. And now that Harry was this close, he could analyse it better. It felt a bit alive as if it was a living thing, but in a Grove of trees that mattered little. It felt like... A reptile? And why did it seem so familiar... yet not?

Oh. Oh, blast.

True enough; Harry pushed beyond and sped under the giant tree at the centre of the forest...

To find a single, large, emerald green dragon egg.

"Does Murphy's law still apply to me in this dimension, I wonder?" Harry bemoaned his luck.

Lorna kept silent because they had long ago gotten used to his antics.

"Which is the most magical tree you could find?" The boss asked, sending the egg into his pocket dimension to deal with later, completely missing how it pulsed from within as it was touched by his magic.

"We are currently under it, my lord." Lorna said, pointing straight up.

Nodding, Harry walked outside and looked up at it. "It's quite big."

"It's nearly six thousand years old." His aide said, in awe. "I am quite certain you will be able to find a suitable branch, my lord."

"Such things cannot be taken, my dear." Harry chastised. "They must be freely given." 

He then let off a powerful pulse of his magic. 

The trees on the grove seemed to freeze solid for a long minute before they all began to pulse their own brand of magic back at him.

Rather than let it hit him and dissipate, he opened himself up to the energies and let them enter him, enters his being and heart and soul. He then knew. He knew of so many things. The forest would not tell him what was not directly bound to his destiny, it was just not its way. But it would tell him what he needed to know.

His eyes snapped open as a single branch fell from up above and landed smack in the middle of his palm. "We must leave." He said, grabbing her hand with his free one and taking to the trees. "We've lingered long enough. Tell anyone here to depart as well, then take up positions around Winterfell."

Lorna seemed to sense his urgency and nodded, vanishing in an inaudible crack a moment later.

Harry meanwhile, tightened his hold on the wood. If he wanted to save this world, he had to move fast. Funny, he chuckled ruefully, how such things always came on his shoulders. But he swore he would raise Westeros, and raise it he would.

He too vanished in a crack.

Harry did not sleep the rest of the night. Instead, he sat at the chair near the window in Jon’s room and stared at the man-boy. He could sense no magic of the Godswoods within him or even himself, but there was still that strange feeling when he laid eyes upon him.

He stood abruptly when the wards around Myrcella’s cradle thumped a bit. His sister was up, and hungry.

Casting an uncharacteristically emotional look over Jon’s sleeping body, he turned and leapt out of the window.

Harry soon found himself rolling his eyes at the teary-eyed goodbyes exchanged between the members of House Stark. The father Eddard, daughters Sansa and Arya, and son Brandon were to come with us to King's Landing, the last to be fostered. He had spent a full hour trying to convince his parents, and his mother was the one to finally cave – doing so in order to rekindle her friendship with the Stark woman. Ed accepted Robert's appointment as Right Hand of the King, Sansa and he was to be officially bonded in betrothal and married down the road sometime. He'd try to talk mother out of it later. Finally, the one known as Arya wished to see the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. While he had absolutely no aptitude for weapons and combat, Harry assured Catelyn he would take her under his wing personally if she wished it.

So, there he stood, watching from the sidelines with Myrcella in his arms as all the others bid farewell, even his own parents. Joffrey was already on the train and long bored with the proceedings. Harry, however, liked to watch and wonder about the lot. Would they all be alive the next time they meet - alive and unharmed? Would they still have the same feelings they do for each other as they do now? And, most importantly, would he gain any amusement from manipulating the bonds between them? He'd seen a brother and sister fight, but never with swords in hand. How about encouraging things to get ... heated ... between father and daughter - how would the mother deal with that? His smirk widened to sadistic proportions, yet his hold on Myrcella never tightened past comfortably safe. The Starks were going to be his new plaything.

"Will I see you again?"

Harry sighed, putting on a stoic facade as he turned to face the speaker. "Jon, it was one night of drunken passion. Let it go."

And indeed, the Stark bastard had been following him like a lost puppy ever since breakfast that morn. It was a surprise he remembered what happened last night considering that some parts of it were flashes even to Harry. Said wizard had been simply ignoring him. Some part of him, he felt, was hurt by his own actions, but he ignored that little piece of himself.

"Tell me you do not feel what I feel." He demanded, getting close… too close. His eyes hot down at the sleeping babe in Harry’s arms before he simply laid his own on the latter’s shoulder. “This… energy… between us cannot be ignored. I still feel your lips on mine, your skin flush, me buried in you to the-"

"I am going to stop you right there." Harry said, blushing... and it was not an act. "There is a baby present."

The older-looking of the two blushed as well. "I... I apologise. Would you like to hold her ears for the conversation?"

"No. No, that's not what I meant." Harry sighed. "Look, Jon, I'm very different from what you probably think I am-"

"You offer yourself to others because you fear rejection." Jon said, simply. "This is what you told me last eve. I can only guess that someone broke your heart, or you found that they were not as truthful as they seemed. I cannot speak for you, but I can speak for myself when I say I can wholly and fully devote myself to you."

"Did I really say that?" A bitter tone fought past Harry's tight hold and into his voice. "Ah, the dangers of alcohol." He looked down at the little innocent bundle in his arms. "You hear that, dear sister? You must not indulge, no matter what."

Said girl merely laughed a little baby laugh that made Harry feel real warmth.

"Harry, please-"

"No, Jon. You please." The younger boy snapped. "I've told you I do not want to start something, means I do not."

"I would keep it secret if you so wished, although I care not - I would gladly yell of us from the rooftops." The brunette insisted, stepping closer. "It's just... don't you feel it? There's something in me telling me that I'm supposed to be with you! That... that letting you go would be the biggest mistake I would ever make! Don't you feel anything similar at all?"

"No." Harry said curtly, steadfastly ignoring himself. He pushed past the annoying man. "I feel no such thing, so if you'll excuse me-"

"I will join the KingsGuard." He said instead, having Harry stop short and turn to stare at the boy. "I... I wanted to journey to the wall, to lend my services there, but if you so wish-"

He had enough. He did not know if he could stand lying to himself when he was so close at hand…

Harry wordlessly cast an Obliviate and walked on, confused over two things - exactly why he was being so insistent as to border on obsessive, and why there were true unbidden tears leaking from his own eyes.


	4. Episode 4 : ...and leaves, bark, and willow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let lose the agents of anarchy.
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 months, 3 days.

Eddard Stark was extremely impressed.

Whatever reason had kept him from King’s Landing (and Harry was far, far too ‘polite’ to peek into his mind), it also kept him from Harry’s invention lines. When it came for him to explain the scope of what he did so far, and his plans for beyond, his eyes positively goggled. It was his smug satisfaction to explain exactly what electricity was, devices that could use it, starting from the lightbulb, and his ‘plans’ for beyond.

If Harry hadn’t mind-raped so many muggles in his other life, he wondered if he would be where he was today.

“Your inventions cross the realm of believability.” The man shook his head. “They’re simply beyond what I ever… thought of.”

“I will take those words as a compliment.” The young boy smiled and rolled up the plans he brought with him.

Robert smiled at him. Eddard and Harry both (unknowing of the other) did not like that smile.

“Well, now that that little show is over,” he coughed, “let us begin today’s meeting. What is the situation in the Seven Kingdoms, Hadrian?”

“With your leave, my liege.” Harry stood and bowed. “The ruling families have only just opened up to the idea of merging our kingdoms in a single unified empire. With a little more coercion, I believe the act will occur within a few months at best.”

He noticed Eddard’s eyes widen from the corner of his gaze and withheld a smirk.

“And what of our finances, Tyrion?” Robert asked, turning to the imp. “Do we have enough coin to distribute our technology to the rest of Westeros if it came down to it?”

“Yes, my liege.” The man confidently said. “Considering Harry’s information when it comes to the coffers of the other lords and ladies, It would take a few adjustments to our expenditure, and maybe more than a little cut-back when it comes to vices of pleasure and merry-making, but it is doable.”

“I do not think that would be a pleasant idea.” Stannis interjected. “The only reasons the Baratheon name is rising again is because of our technology and our vices. I don’t think cutting one out would be acceptable.”

“I concur.” Renly adamantly agreed. “Our way of life should not be impacted by the conquest of the crown.”

“Perhaps a more… tempered reaction… is to be called for?” Harry edged, shooting his father a meaningful glance.

Robert eyed him for the longest moment, before clearing his throat. “Maybe not cutting back completely, but some reductions will have to be made for the greater good of the empire. Perhaps we can do business with Essos?”

“Essos is far too fond of their freedom to consider dealing with the crown.” Stannis shook his head. “We would have better luck seeing what lays beyond the known world.”

“About that…” Harry edged, visibly unsure of how to proceed. “I am certain that the council remembers the rewards we put out for information delivered back to us by those who dare venture beyond the limits of the known world?”

“Someone reported back?” Tyrion asked with an eyebrow raised.

Renly grinned. “A pleasant surprise.”

“I was honestly unsure anyone had the courage needed for such an endeavour.” Stannis admitted.

“The adventurer didn’t make it back. But she did send in a raven with a very… disturbing letter.” Harry hedged. He reached into his coat and withdrew a rolled-up scroll, which he swiftly unfurled and began to read from. “ _To the Seeker’s Bounty Office. I have journeyed west from the land of Westeros in order to see what lies beyond. Attached herewith is a map, with a direct overlay of the constellations so that you can craft a far more accurate map than I am capable of. However, let it be known that I write this missive in haste. While I have found land a long way away from home, it is not uninhabited. The local ‘tribes’ are even more savage than what we know of the Dothraki in the East and have been hunting me relentlessly. I grow weary of them and send this missive in hopes that at least my work so far will not be in vain. Signed, Gwendolyn of the Eastern Hedges._ ”

There was a visible frown on every face.

“Even more unlawful than the Dothraki? Is that even possible?” Stannis sneered.

“I respect them, at least from what I know.” Tyrion spoke. “They may be nomads by nature and have… far laxer laws than what we have in our own societies, but they are far more honourable, and live an existence based off of essentiality and simplicity. Life with them is a vacation… if you are a good fighter or can take a pounding in bed.”

“They sound like the Dornish to me.” Renly murmured.

Hadrian visibly bristled. “The Dornish are far more sophisticated than that rabble, I’ll have you know.”

Robert’s eyes zeroed in on him. “You have had interactions with the people of Dorne?”

All eyes focused on him now.

“That… is private, and of no relevance to the council’s matters today.” He protested, but his eyes were dancing with mirth. “What does matter is the tribal people Gwendolyn has mentioned in her missive. If the woman who hunted down a Northern Sabretooth implies that they are dangerous, perhaps we should heed her words.”

“I knew I recognized the name from somewhere!” Renly muttered. “She’s the woman who pieced together clues and stories from around the continent to track down man’s first known sabretooth tiger in the north. It’s thanks to her that so much territory close to the wall has been clearly mapped out.”

“Perhaps we should look to consolidating our own territory before we look beyond.” Stannis interjects. “If our plans for Westeros are to hold true, then we must turn our attention to every little bit within our walls first, and then beyond.”

“I agree with Lord Baratheon.” Eddard spoke, for the first time since the official meeting began. “If what I have gathered is true, you wish to unite the Seven Kingdoms under a single banner – an empire. While I do not think it is a good idea, if it is what you wish, you should look at completing that endeavour before you look ahead.”

“I agree. Caution is warranted here.” Harry spoke smoothly. “What I meant to happen, was for a naval patrol. At the rate our shipyards are cranking out their fruit, we should have more than enough even after our fleet surplus in order to validate seven or eight such routes, no?”

“That can be arranged.” Stannis nodded. “It is best never to underestimate our enemies. If savages they are, then a savage’s tactics they will employ. Best to be prepared.”

“If there is nothing else…?” Robert let I hang, before standing. “Then our meeting today is adjourned.

There were sounds of scraping chairs as the lot of them dispersed, and Harry lingered a bit behind to look at the map calculatingly. Given that the north was a frigid wasteland and the south was a desert, Westeros should be a continent that spans from the North Pole to the Equator. Without a proper spell, however, he would never have an accurate depiction of the world. He sighed, gathered his things, and began to walk out.

"I was unaware that you were the Master of Whispers."

Harry turned to gaze upon the slightly wrinkled face of Eddard Stark. After personally being in the company of the man while skill was needed, he could safely say that he was quite impressed. The man had a tactical mind to rival his own, although his tact may do with some bettering. It's no wonder - having been fostered together under Jon Arynn, Robert must have grown to be the brawn while Eddard must have learned to be the brains.

"I would appreciate if you did not go spreading that exciting bit of news around." Harry smiled, adding the mental compulsion to follow his well-placed 'suggestion' in the words. "A spymaster is best not known to be one at all."

"That, and the fact that you have your own private army?" The man asked, tilting his head. "Your 'KingsBlade'-"

"The KingsBlade belongs to whoever sits upon the Iron Throne, Lord Stark." Harry interrupted, tone frosty. Internally, he cursed his father’s open mouth. "Whether the crown lies on my father’s head or another’s is irrelevant. Whether I am the Master of Whispers or not is irrelevant. Whether I am the target or not is irrelevant." He bit out, stressing the last words of each sentence. "They will always belong to the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Offending was not my intention; I apologise." He offered in return. "Perhaps you would like to join me for a spot of tea...?"

"I do not sit with people who do not trust me if I am offered a choice, Lord Stark." Harry said in way of dismissal and turned to walk away. 

"It was actually Sansa." Eddard spoke, jogging up to and then walking alongside him. "She wished to see you about-"

"Our betrothal." He finished, walking up, towards the terraces. "I have already spoken to mother and she has expressed her approval in me... revising... that plan. I will not wed someone who is only after the position of a queen, Lord Stark. I wish for my betrothed to understand me, to take me as I am."

"I cannot speak for what Sansa would do." The other man admitted. "I do not know-"

"That is the root of all the problems, Lord Stark." Harry said, stopping suddenly to turn on the man. "You. Do. Not. Know."

He seemed confused.

"You do not know her insecurity. You do not know her desire to be loved by her family. You do not know her beliefs and lows and weaknesses-"

"But you do?" The man interrupted, stone-faced.

Harry stood on his tip-toes to look the man in the eyes the best he could. "Yes. I know because in the occurrence of a single conversation I was able to wheedle out the deepest part of herself! Either she is so craven for attention that she is willing to be open to whoever gives her a sliver of it, or she is so obsessed with being betrothed to the Crown prince that she tells him her deepest secrets - or even lies concocted to garner my attention. My experience with people tells me it's a mixture of both of the former, which makes it all the sadder."

The man was left speechless. 

"While you are here as The Hand of the King, Lord Stark, perhaps contribute some time to your daughter." Harry almost spat. "The Seven know you've never done so before."

The Master of Whispers turns to walk away, but a flash of teary blue truthful eyes flash in front of him.  "I... I will visit. But I cannot say when. Give her my regards."

Harry then turned and vanished around a corner. If the man tried to chase him - which Harry knew he wouldn't - he will find him absent, for he displaced himself to his room instead. 

"Ah, the things I do for appearances..." he muttered to himself, the frowned.

What was that flash of memory... ever since returning from Winterfell, he has been all over the place. His emotions are helter-skelter, his appetite is almost absent, he felt frustrated without reason, and an increased reason to just... burn something. 

What was going on?

He absently cast a sound containing ward and began blasting the room with bombardment hexes.

Where was that fucker Jaime when you needed him?

But between every spell, between every uttered syllable, between every piece of furniture blasted to bits, the same eyes flash in front of him over and over again. 

With a final cry of frustration, he threw a bombardment hex right at the darkest corner of his room... and was frozen immediately.

Potent death magic rushed free as if it were blockaded by some unseen force before. His temper tantrum, for that was what it was, there were no two ways about it, served as an invisible key, almost. But the intensity and the oppression the magic exerted… it stirred memories of his past life.

The magical energy emanating from it almost swept him off his feet when it pulsed powerfully. He cast a shield and tried to fight against its thrall, but couldn't, and it shattered soon enough. Darkness began to sweep over the room, and perhaps he was a little disoriented because it seemed to radiate joy…? It was then that he finally recognised the signature, and gave in completely.

A long-handed-off cloak fitted itself around his shoulders, a long-forgotten stone-laid ring slid itself home on his right pointer finger, and a long-broken wand found itself in his grip.

Then the world faded to black.

When it regained colour, he found himself standing in an extremely familiar environment. His eyes were on a bottle-green floor carpet, and he was always afraid of looking up, for the faintest of moments, but then he did, anyway.

The walls were of a similar colour, but here were gleaming silver furnishings everywhere he looked. The portraits of several wizards of dubious moral alignment adorned the walls in an orderly fashion, although their occupants were fast asleep. He stepped closer to the window that gave the occupants a beautiful view of under the lake – it was the source of the wavy blue light that sent the room sparkling beautifully during the time when the sun was out. His fingers pressed against the glass, and he almost lost himself in memories of when his life was much easier…

“Are you done reminiscing, I wonder?”

He whirled around, and his visage turned nearly ghost white before he reigned his emotions in. "This is not possible." He gasped. He had seen various outrageous things in his life, but this far by trumped the list. 

Tom Riddle sat at one of the chairs near the hearth, looking as comfortable as ever, sipping away at a cup, hopefully not of blood. "Ah, Master. You have finally reclaimed the Hallows. And your fool mortal father thought he could keep you away. How amusing." He spoke. But when he turned to look at Harry, his eye sockets were empty.

"Death." Harry breathed, eyes wide. "This is not possible. What trickery is this? Did you curse the Hallows into Horcruxes?"

"I would never do something so... plebeian... as your mortal mother calls it." He smiled, reaching forwards for the tea service floating in front of him. "I still remember how you like your tea. 'Pour the sugar until the spoon can stand in it, then a splash of milk.' I haven't forgotten, my-"

"I am not your master." Harry said firmly. "And you are not my Death. I wiped him off the face of existence myself for the crimes he had done to me personally. You must be this dimension's equal, having leeched power off me through the years."

"And the sacrifices you made to me, master." the entity smirked. "They tasted especially delicious after you violated them."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What sacrifi- ugh!"

He was pushed to the floor when the floodgates of memories opened. Arguing with the corner of the room before he unlocked his memories. Feeding it various conquests of his that he laid with. Giving his own magic to it willingly.

"You took over me somehow." Harry said, fearfully clambering to his feet and raising his Occlumency to their maximum potency. "You are not just Death."

"I am not." It agreed. "The people in this dimension call me the Seven-Faced God. They know not who I really am. Nor will I be fool enough to tell you. However, I will not linger here long enough for it to be if any importance either. I am leaving this dimension entirely. Rh'llor can fuck them all for all I care." It mused.

“Rh’llor… the Esterosi Lord of Light?” Harry asked with his eyes narrowed. “So he exists, too. What’s next, is the Drowned Man going to pay me a visit for crimes against his people?”

“He doesn’t exist anymore.” The implied ‘obviously’ was heavily evident in his tone. “You and I both know that for gods or beings of a higher plane like myself to exist, we need to live off the beliefs of mortals. With no one to believe in him anymore, he dispersed a long while ago. I am surprised you did not notice the increased potency of your spells.”

“What do you want?” Harry demanded, hands twitching and sparking. “Do you wish to fight me for the power I rightly possess by way of conquering? Do you wish to end me for ending another god?”

The entity looked at him as if he were stupid. "I only want to offer you a piece of advice and thought that a familiar face would make you willing to accept it more. I forgot that it was Death who caused you to kill your beloved to take his form."

Harry slowly relaxed from his tense stance. "You can fool my mind shields, so I won't be fool enough to take your word to as true. However, I am willing to listen to what you have to say."

The Seven Faced God simply smirked. “You always were a smart one, Harry Potter.”

“I go by Hadrian Baratheon these days, actually.” Harry smirked back. “Let us be done with this – what are your words of wisdom? The sooner we are finished, the sooner you can leave and let me return to reality.”

"Good words.” The being nodded. “Then my words are this: beware the wronged dead and the magic in the east."

Harry stared at him for a long moment. “Do you wankers enjoy being cryptic? Is there some unspoken interdimensional rule for deities to be annoyingly vague? Or is this just part of being a god – you can’t give straight answers anymore?”

“Oh Harry, you and your caustic wit.” The other chuckled. “Regardless, it’s time for me to leave. Any longer, and I won’t have the energy needed to make the jump. Remember, your powers are only limited by your imagination.”

And then all he knew was blackness. When he came to, his room was repaired already, and he lay on his bed. It was still night out.

He rolled over in agitation and noted that he was being held in Jaime’s arms. He could not remember laying with him, but perhaps the potent Death magic worked as a drug? He shrugged and closed his eyes, setting a mental alarm for an hour’s time in order to wake the man up.

He didn’t let himself admit he liked the warmth that Jaime provided.

The next day, Harry still found agitated. 

Even after his encounter with the Seven-Faced God, the feeling of constant buzzing did not leave him. He poured over books in the Grand Library as well as the King's Attic but was still unable to pinpoint what exactly the vague entity meant by his words.

The 'wronged dead' could simply mean a multitude of things, so he decided to narrow it down after the first.

The 'magic in the east', however, too could mean many things. It could mean the Shadow Lands and whatever fuelled the resistance to his magic of the grass that grew there. It could mean the Blood Maegi of Essos or the Warlocks of Qarth. Hell, it could even have meant his immediate East, in which sense it could be a betrayal by one of his underlings.

Words given by Gods were just weird that way - he had that experience. 

Eventually, he resorted to speaking with his uncle Tyrion.

One might think his choice odd. He was never very close to his uncle and never meant to be, either. Tyrion just never crossed his mind. The last time they had spoken was after the tourney, and not once since they were appointed to the same council have they spoken in private. 

So, it was quite understandable that the dwarf made a show of surprise.

"Ah, what is this? The wayward fawn has come to the den of the lion?" He gasped, hand going to his chest theatrically.

The Master of Whispers smirked. "I'll have you know, uncle, I've lain with more women and men than this brothel goes through in a year."

The Lannister paused, eyeing him carefully. "Men? Is that a bit of Dornish influence I spot?"

"Oberyn made sure to fill me with the essence of his kind quite thoroughly." Harry chuckled. "Careful, uncle. A war of words with me is sure to end in your defeat, as much as that tongue has the reputation of being dipped in silver."

Tyrion, who was about to speak, paused to reconsider. "Well, I have heard tell you do take after me in that regard... very well, I will not test it. What is it you seek here then, if not the pleasurable company?"

"Answers." The younger carefully spoke. "'Beware the wronged dead, and the magic in the East.' I was told this by an ... invested friend. I wish to decide what it means and have had no success even to a wider degree. I've been told you have an out of the box thinking that would help me get another perspective."

The dwarf eyed him for even longer before finally letting go of the girl next to him... her tit to be specific. "Interesting. Tell me. Does this friend have any reason to lie to you?"

"No." Harry shook his head, taking a seat by the window and gazing outside into the busy streets. He had a very good view of the other brothel opposite the street but opted to look at the hustle and bustle of the roads in the Defamed District instead. "He said I helped him unknowingly. Although, he did keep information of exactly how thoroughly I did it right until the end of our time together."

"Then this person seeks amusement in your floundering like the both of us see in others." At his questioning gaze, Tyrion simply rolled his eyes. "Being scorned universally and tricked often allows you an uncanny sense of judging personality, my nephew. Be sure to keep that in mind."

"Funny. Uncle Jaime said the same thing." Harry murmured. 

"Well, that is funny indeed." Tyrion said, all traces of humour vanishing from his voice. "It is what he says to someone before he beds them."

Harry's eyes flashed to the knife in the fruit bowl and then to him. "Careful with what you say, uncle. I admit I need your help, but I am not desperate enough to seek accusations in exchange."

"I never accused you of anything, Hadrian." Tyrion spoke, his own eyes growing harsh. "Have you gone insane? The man has enough rumours about him-"

"Rumours are the work of idle commoner minds, uncle." Harry rolled his eyes. "Besides, if you're going for the 'scold till he is wet in his pants and then laugh it off' gig, it's not going to work on me."

"Horsepiss." His uncle swore. "How did you find out?"

"It's easy to know the truth of anything when it is so clearly reflected... In your eyes..." Harry trailed off, then his eyes widened. "Oh. Morgana's saggy tits!" He swore, jumping onto the windowsill. "Thank you, uncle! I will always remember this!" He swore and jumped.

The dwarf ran to the edge, but as soon as he did, he realized there was no screaming crowd or a dead body on the ground below. His nephew had vanished.

Harry had, indeed, apparated to King’s Attic. Nodding back to whomsoever bowed for him, he made his way in a hurry to the library wing of the expanded space and quickly walked to the books on possession. He quickly pulled the one he wanted down and flipped through the pages until he reached the page he desired.

The book fell back on to the desk with a thump.

How could he have been so blind? And since when was this going on? Was it before, or after…?

His hands fisted in his hair. This is what he got for letting himself feel again. He couldn’t feel, he just couldn’t. Bad things happened when he let himself feel.

He took a deep breath, and then let it go. If ill occurrences happened when he loosened the leash he had on his emotions, he just had to tighten it. To hell with the consequences of damning himself by shielding his primal emotions – he had fallen in love again with the wrong sort. This… this just couldn’t continue.

He took a deep breath. Then he doomed himself with only a twitch of his mental willpower.

Later that night found him gazing out the window from his room. The city was so… pathetic. Even with all of his contributions, it looked barely any better. Perhaps he should look to further expanding the city surreptitiously…?

Harry smiled to himself as the door to his chamber closed. He did not turn, however.

"You look as if you were not of this world." The man who entered spoke, wrapping his hands around the eldest Baratheon son of Robert, and kissing his temple. "What I would not give to be far, far away from all this with you..."

"I never took you for a romantic." Harry said in way of reply. He turned instead to gaze into the man’s eyes... and found his answer. Somewhere beyond his Occlumency, a little boy cried in anguish. But here, at the forefront of his mind, he only felt the bleakness that having no emotions brought. But believing is power, and he certainly believed he could fake the needed reactions. "You have been acting quite different lately."

Jaime Lannister smiled, raising his lover's hand and kissing his wrist. "If I said you bring out the best in me, would you brand me a poetic loon?"

"I would brand you an imposter." Harry smirked. He pretended not to feel the slight stiffening of Jaime's body as he took the man's hand and dragged him to the bed. "But I know of no such sorcery."

At the word 'sorcery', Jaime's smile fully returned. "Ah. So, you have found me out."

Harry simply smiled, but his heart ached strangely in his chest, pushing the man onto the bed. "I do not know what you're talking about, uncle."

Jaime snorted, and grasped Harry's bare waist, pinning the boy underneath him in a smooth and fluid motion. "I knew my ploy would not last long, Master of Death. I simply wished to ride it while it lasted."

Far from showing any discomfort at the way the situation had turned, Harry smirked and leaned up to nibble on the man's ear. "I know that. And since you clearly enjoy laying with me, I will indulge you one last time, no matter what. I'm far too infatuated with the tricks your tongue plays on my neck to cut it prematurely." The boy then lay his head back on the mattress as he continued. "But I do wish to know who you are, and when you took over my uncle. It would sate my curiosity."

"I took over this man’s body but a few moments before we departed for Winterfell – I had no much power before my loyal servants sacrificed more in my name. As for me, the Seven-Faced God must have told you of my presence." The entity behind the man mused. "Tell me of his words, would you?"

"'Beware the wronged dead, and the magic in the East.'" Harry obliged. "I assume you are either a powerful native magic-user or, like me, are a part of another world…?"

"I was born for the first time in this world, unfortunately." The entity said, eyes glowing like hot coals. "Or else I would have claimed you as mine ages past. As for who I am, I was once a powerful sorcerer, but succumbed to greed and punished by fate itself, I was turned into something far more... and far less at the same time." It leaned in to leave a tender kiss on Harry's lips and barely drew a hair's breadth back to speak. "I first knew of you when you crossed my domain to be born in the body you are now. While your soul passed, I held your memories back to observe, curious as to your origins. Your tale is inspiring and gave me hope to free myself from the confines I find myself in. I sought to earn your love to experience what Tom Riddle never truly realized the value of… what the LeStranges, Viktor Krum, or Neville Longbottom never recognised the worth of."

"Careful." Harry hissed, eyes starting to glow emerald with a ferocity that matched those of the entity above him, in spite of his tightly clamped mental shields. "You cross lines you should not tread."

"No lines hold me back, Harry Potter." The thing smirked. "I adhere to none. When my presence touches this plane due to my followers' efforts, your wait will end - for I will come for you. No one can keep us apart, not even yourself, with all your magical might."

"You have not seen what I am capable of, spirit." Harry whispered. "You have only seen what I let out of the confines of my mind and into reality. My greatest weapon is my mind - my magic only helps my ideas come to fruition."

"Very well." The body of Jaime Lannister sighed. Before Harry's very eyes, the flesh on it began to blacken and fade away, drifting to various other parts of his anatomy. Before his very eyes, the body broke itself down, and reconstructed itself, ending in a red-skinned man with high horns, and blazing infernos for eyes. His visage looked quite a lot like Jaime, Harry thought, and maybe that was why he had chosen to take his place. The spirit was pure bulk, like a professional weight lifter or body builder back on his original world. Hair cropped short, and an uncaring fuzz on his face.

"I am R'hllor, Lord of Light and Shadows." It proclaimed, and Harry’s heart dropped. "I will lay with you tonight, like myself, to tide us both till we next meet. And believe me, my little stag, it will be soon."

"Don't count on it." Harry smirked. "Shall we get on with it?"

R'hllor mirrored his expression, and the lights went out with a snap. The god was a ferocious lover, though not as violent as Robert. Harry found himself unwillingly lowering his shields a few minutes into it, lest his mind be unable to handle the pressure and he is rendered comatose, simply because it was so… intense. Jaime had known his way around his body, and it seemed that R’hllor himself had learned from the man’s recollections.

Throughout it all, Harry never once thought about how he was going to find Jaime Lannister.

Finding out that there was a god lusting after him was a new ego boost for Harry. While he would rather not be tied to a deity such as this one, it was still flattering, nonetheless. He did laugh at the irony that R'hllor would fall for a mortal tied to death and sorrow more than any other, but perhaps the phrase 'opposites attract' held much more promise than he thought.

Jaime Lannister had not been seen ever since that night. Harry did not know what arcane talents the God of Light had used, but any searches by magic showed no result for anyone by the name Jaime held. However, he did find out that the man was taken over just outside his own room. He was growing to appreciate just how weak the fabled deities of this realm were. Although he would not admit it, even to himself, he was worried.

All life relied on balance. This was especially true for power. While the denizens of Terra were hardier and more robust than his own people back home, there was no arguing that they were weak in terms of the mind and raw destructive capability. In his world, the gods had long since faded away due to disbelief, and the power had been tipped into humanity's arms, granting the magical men and women their reality-bending abilities.

If R'hllor had to gather his power before descending to the mortal plane, and the Seven-Faced God was so weak here that he had to consume the ambient magic Harry gave off in addition to human sacrifices to gain enough strength just to leave...

Where was all the power?

The magic was clearly somewhere. Deities and beings such as dragons don't just evolve or form out of nothing. But if it wasn't with the mortals or the Gods, and the Dragons had not been seen for near a millennia...

Where did it all go?

He did have a dragon egg, he recalled. He had not touched it or even remembered of its existence in the past few days. He had just been so busy staging a story for Jaime's tragic murder and entertaining the idea of drawing out the schematics for a land-based war machine. Essos made him weary, now. He wasn't eager to go toe-to-toe with a God, he just was not clever enough yet. He had exhausted any means of gaining power too! He had done all the rituals he could think of, he had gone through with mutilating his own souk to unlock the potential within... There just was not anything he remembered that could help him get stronger... besides a Philosopher's Stone... but he was absolutely certain he would not be able to gather the ingredients he would need for it!

Regardless of power-hungry woes, at least he knew what a part of the words uttered by that infuriating deity meant! 'The magic in the East' clearly meant R'hllor - the god had admitted as such.

But while a part of his worries had been resolved, another made for a stubborn one.

'Betrayed dead'... what could the phrase mean? Souls of the wrongly slaughtered, demanding revenge? A reincarnation joke? What indeed...

"Ah, your grace." The voice sounded out, and Harry turned away from the flower he was absently staring at to watch Sansa enter the reception room of her mansion in the city proper. All the ruling lords and ladies had a mansion for each family, to properly denote their status from the rest of the rabble and to provide a familiar environment for them when they visited the capital for any purpose. The Stark’s was done in greys, and most of its furnishing included furs and downplayed opulence where it mattered.

 "I wished to meet you in the palace instead of here! I am far below your station to have you visit my family's city home-!" the girl hesitated.

"Calm yourself, Sansa." Harry chuckled. "I have come to visit you today as a friend, not as a crowned prince. And have you already forgotten what you are to refer to me as?" He grinned and gestured to the chair in front of him. “Have a seat while you think.”

She blushed and rolled her eyes. "Harry." She sighed. "Why must you fluster me so?"

For a moment, Harry was lost in memories of someone he called a sister once. Bushy hair, buck-toothed, quite plain-looking, but she had meant the world to him. They had discovered so much together, and most of their interactions followed similar conventions of Sansa’s and his. His heart cried for a small moment for times lost, but he clamped his shields down tighter and smiled instead. "Because, clearly, Joffrey is not here to do it for me." The Prince drawled, imitating his brother.

"Oh hush." The now crimson-hued girl stuttered out. "Honestly, Harry..."

"Alright, alright." Harry smiled, raising his arms in the universal gesture of surrender. "I apologise. What is It you wanted to see me for?"

Sansa but her bottom lip, clearly in two minds about wanting to share this or not. "I... thought about what you said, about breaking the mould... and how you could help me in such an endeavour. It is the reason why I have come to King's Landing with father, actually." She seemed to grow more confident as she spoke. "I have never been here, true, and it would be nice to see the city now that its infamous stench is gone, but… there is more to my visit than just that.”

Harry regarded her during the few moments of silence that followed. “What is it that you desire, exactly?” He relaxed his shields slightly in order to make the reactions seem more genuine.

“I wish to break the norm, for once. Just be... me, rather than a Stark of Winterfell.” She said, then chuckled ruefully. “Your words back at home – they truly jarred me. I found that I unable to describe my own self! And that was looking in the mirror, looking into my very eyes! What use am I as a person if I don’t even know myself? What use am I- “

“I will ask you to stop there.” Harry said firmly, but not unkindly, eyeing the distressed girl with a smile. He took her hands in his own before he spoke. “I have told you this once before, and I will tell you it again. You are not an object. It is commendable that you wish to forge an identity for yourself. But, please, don’t do it just so your ‘wroth’ increases.”

“Then what is the point, Harry?” she quietly whispered, and he could spot unshed tears in her eyes. “Why… why am I here?”

Understanding what she really meant, Harry turned to look out the window with a faraway expression. “That is the question, isn’t it? The million-dragon question that everyone wonders about at some point in their lives. Why are we here? What is the reason for our existence? For all my brilliance, I have never been able to find an answer to these questions myself.” He said simply, and it was true. Whether in this life or the past one, he didn’t know why he was born in the first place. He once held the delusion it was to uplift society, or to raise his children to be better than him but… he never succeeded. How could he be born for a purpose and never flourished on the path? “However, what I can say, is that who we are as people matters far more than our worth in any way.”

She looked at him then and sniffed. “And how, exactly, do you recommend we find who I am?"

"Well," drawled Harry, smiling warmly and wiping her tears away, "I may have a few ideas."

She looked at him sceptically. “Was that… meant to be inspiring?”

The pout that he gave her almost sent her into hysterics.

The rest of the morning he spent conversing with her. Her earliest memory, the first song she heard, the book she loved the most… all was revealed to him. In turn, he told her tales he had only told his mother and brother so far, the stories of the world he once lived in – the fables of the Greek, Norse, Indian, Egyptian and Mayan Gods, funny occurrences rehashed while keeping careful consideration of his audience… he did not know why he did it, really. However, he did know that Sansa reminded him of Hermione – it was what set him off in Winterfell, and it was what set him off now, but not in a bad way. It brought up memories best left forgotten, yes, but… he’d block them away with Occlumency anyway.

They spoke nothing of magic, or even the training she would undergo. He did, however, swear her to secrecy and then inform her of the KingsBlade, and that sent her eyebrows to her hairline.

“The Massacre of the Iron Islands, they’re calling it.” She said, looking up to the skies from the chairs they occupied on her balcony. “The will of the gods…”

“There were no gods involved, the last time I checked.” He teased, grinning widely. “Unless, of course, you’re suggesting something.”

“Hadrian!” she chastised, blushing and laughing simultaneously. “You’re really something else.”

He was about to banter with her more when there came a knock on the door, and the one known as Arya stepped in. She was dressed in clothes that allowed movement, and her gait announced her budding status as a warrior. He weighed her in his mind, both as a person and as a tool, and found her wanting. Then again, his best men and women only knew how to satiate the body’s hunger less than five years ago, so he could allow her the benefit of the doubt.

“Won’t you introduce us, San…sa…?”

The girl was interrupted when her older sister simply rushed to her and embraced her tight. She shot Harry an incredulous expression, but he simply shrugged. Once again, for perhaps the twentieth or so time that morning itself, he found himself strongly suppressing the urge to mind-read the girl. Instead, he finished the cup of tea he was nursing and stood. “I believe you will want some privacy, my dear.”

Sansa withdrew from the embrace and gave Harry an amusedly exasperated look with teary eyes. “I suppose that is best. I just realized…” she trailed, and glanced back at Arya, who looked might confused.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Give me some credit.” He chided, just climbing upon the railing instead. “Remember, I will be here every morning, as soon as the sun is halfway up the sky.”

“What are you doing?!” she demanded, eying his feet easily balancing in the thin handhold.

He tipped n imaginary hat at her – a gesture which probably lost its meaning, but amused him, nonetheless. “Have a good day, milady.” He grinned and fell backwards. He only just heard a scream when he twisted in mid-air, displacing himself to his workshop, completing the twirl and landing on his feet with a flourish.

He stood and beamed at nothing in particular. That ought to intrigue them both. It had the added benefit of letting them both know he was the Master of Whispers – for he knew that they would inevitably go to their father in curiosity, and the man was too soft to keep such information away from two sets of this world’s version of the puppy-dog eyes. He had kept that little titbit from Sansa for a reason, after all.

“I really ought to make and distribute watches.” He mused. “It’s beyond time that there was a sense of order around here…”

He turned to his drafting table and quickly conjured a working gear-shaft clock, then opened it up and scrawled its design down on a drafting paper. HE scrawled the meanings and nuances of telling time on the empty spaces around the diagrams and deemed himself done. Rolling it up, he whistled, and a raven flew down from one of the three chandeliers that cast their shadow over the room due to the sunbeams streaming in from the skylight. He quickly shrunk the clock and stuck it to the scroll with a sticking charm, then tied both to the bird. “Get this to Herenn. She’ll know what to do.” He instructed, and the bird cawed before taking flight. He watched it go with a mischievous smile – no doubt watches would start showing up around Westeros in a few days’ time. Ah, the benefits of having a wide network of people who listen to your every command… how satisfying.

He sighed and stretched. Since he was here, might as well get to some other designs, hm?

A few minutes later saw Harry scrawling over his scroll in at a furious pace, writing and then vanishing the ink when he was left with a feeling of something wrong.

Currently, he was drawing out plans for simple conductors to capture energy from lightning storms for the kingdoms to use. Westeros was not known for them but... well, a little bit of innocent storm magic never hurt anyone (right…). And rather than suddenly introducing the concept of electricity like an idiot, it would be easier as playing it off as something associated with nature first, then slowly ease the sheep into the idea of generators and stuff. Conjured coal in mines would only go so far, though. He had to create a spell to specifically track deposits... A simple point me would go haywire, even with the right adjectives, if it was as he suspected, and Westeros was ripe with the energy substance... hmm.

He remembered lightning catchers easily, that was not the hard part. The true puzzle was creating a conduit for the energy to be stored to use later. He'd never forgotten anything before, so he knew that he just had not looked into batteries that much...

Well, in his defence, he never knew he would have to singlehandedly raise a civilization out of the medieval ages.

"Hadrian?"

Harry sighed, and turned to the door, flicking his hand to cast a subtle drying charm since he knew he would get no more work done today. "Greetings, mother."

The woman was at the door, eyeing the walls and the various half-done contraptions around the room itself with wonder.

He'd never really let her in, before. The room was off limits, and he'd only just forgotten to review the wards for recharging the other day... oh. He really needed something like an alarm to keep him on track when he was running harried. If she had stepped in when he was working on the plans for the clock…

"It seems I have never been here for good reason." Cersei chuckles, and the sound still makes Harry's heart warm. He really loves his mother, he knows, and she is his only weakness so far. A small, traitorous voice whispers something in the back of his mind that he promptly ignores. "I am incapable of understanding a single object."

"Half-baked ideas, most of them." Harry waved his arm around. "Dreams, more like. We have not advanced that much to integrate my ideas into life." Yet, he thought. Perhaps they would be there in a couple of years...

She trailed her hand over a few scattered pieces of metal. "You will take us there. There are so many marvels of yours out in the world already. If anyone can help us further, it is you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere with me, mother, but now is not the time." Harry smiled knowingly. "What have you come to berate me lovingly about?"

Cersei looked unsure for a moment before shaking her head. "Despite all the Baratheon blood in you, I am unashamed to say that your mind is pure Lannister." She smiled. "You are certainly praised highly enough by father that his servants have stopped falling to shock whenever he smiles. It is not-"

"Mother." Harry sighed. "You know I love grandfather and you dearly, but I really am on the cusp of something here, please get to the point."

"Your betrothal." She said, after a moment's pause. "We have debated long and hard over it, and I would appreciate your final answer."

"Mother, I have given you my final answer." Harry sighed. "I am only just going to cross my eight-and-tenth name-day. I have too much work to do in the world to be tied down by something such as a betrothal. If you are worried about turning the Starks down, Joffrey has already agreed to take her hand. She and I make better friends." Besides, now that he saw her as something akin to a sister, tying himself to her in such a manner would be… awkward, to say the least.

"So, this is what you have decided?" She finally sighed, crossing her arms. "I worry about you. Ever since we have returned from Winterfell, it is like you have your mind clouded."

Harry frowned. "I don't know what gave you that impression."

"When was the last time you say with us and ate, my son?" She asked, sadly. "When was the last time you and Joffrey sat together? Or you and your father discussed anything outside of the Small Council? For all your smarts, it is almost painfully obvious that you are trying to distract yourself. Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Harry turned away from her and rubbed his temples. "There is nothing, mother. If you will excuse me, I need to leave on my nightly patrol."

"It is barely past sunset." She frowned. "Are you angry at us? I am unsure if we have done anything to earn your ire-"

"There is nothing to discuss, mother." Harry sighed, and turned to smile at the woman he loved the most in the world. "If there was, you would be the first to know." He added, then walked to the window. "I just... have a multitude of things to think about. If I need someone to talk to, however, I will let you know."

Cersei sighed. "As you wish. And now... I have to tell Joffrey he is to be betrothed." She breathed deeply. “Oh."

“You are the best of us to do it, mother.” He smiled at her knowingly. “After all, he does love you most.”

“Lies.” She said and pouted comically. “He loves you more than me! Oh, woe…”

“We both would offer everything we own or are if it meant seeing your smile.” He reminded her, throwing open the giant door-like windows to let the sunlight in uninterrupted by the glass. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Hadrian.” She called, just as he was about to leap. “Don’t… promise me you’ll never lose yourself for my happiness.”

He turned to look at her then and saw the amount of worry she really had on her face. He chastised himself for making her feel so and then lifted the corners of his mouth in a real smile. “I’m sorry, mother, that is just something I cannot do.”

Jumping up, he grabbed hold of the careful divots he’s made into the walls around his room and quickly ascended to the roof of the castle. He was aware that his mother had rushed out to observe him but lost him halfway up to his destination.

The moment he reached where he had to be, he crouched and cast a keen gaze over the city.

“My Lord.” A voice greeted him, and he turned to see Olyvar slinking up to near his position. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Have they found him?” he asked, plainly. The boy knew of whom he spoke.

“No, my lord.” He said, head still bowed. “However, we are still searching. What little information we have gathered so far suggests he simply took an alternate route to his destination. He will soon be within our grasp.”

“We’ll be expanding the city again, today.” Harry informed him after a long pause. “Five metres added to every gap, be it road or a space between buildings. Then double back to me with your squad and we’ll cast the Living Earth Adjustment spell together.” He levelled him with a look. “By that time Herenn should be back, and the lot of you will do the same routine when I order of it next, with the length I specify. Allow her to see the memories when she returns.”

“Yes, my lord.” He nodded, bowed, and vanished in a crack to gather his squad.

Harry gazed at the spot he was in for the longest moment, before turning back to look at the city itself. Olyvar’s squad was dedicated to city maintenance, a duty most regarded as an insult. However, it was only those Harry chose to trust within his cabal that knew he prized the city above all else except his family, and only assigned the task to those he considered most talented in the mystic arts. ‘Chose to trust’ is exactly that, his choice, since he made it literally impossible for anyone within the KingsBlade to betray him – the members simply couldn’t comprehend the thought.

“Well.” He sighed and raised his hood and mask. “Time for work.”

It was after a dull evening and a sleepless night that Harry found himself at the breakfast table, barely able to stomach even the thought of consuming food. The sight was… off-putting, to say the least. He attributed the immense fatigue he felt to performing the spell that allowed the planet to adapt itself to whatever changes was brought to its land by magic. Essentially, he just rounded out the whole planet again after the variations he added in. Even given his vast mastery over magic and his sizeable capacity for it, he was feeling absolutely foul. He wondered if even all the people he allotted to the task would be up to it, but he simply shrugged it off. They wouldn’t die from a little magical exhaustion anyway.

"... holding a tourney on your name-day." Joffrey finished, sighing. "Even though you have managed to fill the coffers to the brim and more, I had assumed the name-day tourney rights would have passed onto Myrcella by now." 

"I will cheerfully murder anyone to death." Harry admitted, slumping. "Mother, can we please not hold anything in my name-day? I wish to simply rest."

"I should have Pycelle look you over." Cersei murmured in way of answer. "You look a bit too pale."

"That rat better not get within the length of an arm-span around me." He groaned instead. "If he does, I will be unable to control my actions."

"Spoken like a true Baratheon!" Robert laughed. "It is but a passing fever, dear. Fret not."

"Hadrian has never fallen ill in his life!" Cersei said in reply. "Perhaps he is not strong enough to fight it? I'll not lose my son to a rise in temperature!"

"You’re doubting me again, mother. Besides, it's not that extreme." Harry said, smiling. He couldn’t very well tell her he had cast an immensely taxing spell after a night full of casting space-enlargement charms now, could he? “I just need a few hours of rest, is all."

Joffrey eyed him from the corner of his eye. "I think it is best you rest, brother. I am almost fully certain mother will soon coerce you to do so anyway. I'll escort you to your chamber."

Harry sighed and stood. “I believe that would be for the best.” He admitted and leaned on his brother for support. “Don’t worry about me, mother,” he gave his best reassuring grin. “I’ll be alright in a few hours’ time.”

“If you believe so…” his mother trailed but didn’t look convinced. He nodded at Joffrey, and the two soon found themselves slowly walking away.

 As soon as he was out of earshot, he groaned and slumped against the wall. "Have you found him yet?"

"We have our best agents looking for him." Joffrey said in encouragement. "We will find him, and then you can deal with this mess." 

"Everything was fine before I met him." Harry groaned. "Something is making my magic even harder to control. I’ve cast several more taxing spells before, but the results were never this extreme. We have a connection, so it’s best to end it if it’s such a detriment to me. If he dies, everything will be well again."

"I still do not think killing is the best idea.” The other admitted, looking uncharacteristically unsure. Maybe you should check-"

"I haven't been able to divine anything." Harry sighed, head in his hands. "There hasn't been anything in the waters- oh shove off!”

“Harry?” Joffrey asked, more than a little bit weary.

“There is… something trying to penetrate the wards around the castle since midnight yesterday.” He said, eyes seeing something else besides the corridor they were now in. “Whatever it is, it seems to be trying to attach itself to my magical signature, and to the inferno with that! Regardless, I have been unable to see anything to indicate what will come to pass anymore. It is as if whatever connection we share is... being tampered with. Oh. Oh no."

"Oh yes."

Both princes turned towards the voice, Harry falling into a well-hammered-in stance and Joffrey reaching for the concealed dagger in his coat. Seven or so KingsGuard belatedly cracked into existence around him, weapons drawn and pointed at the figure’s heart.

The figure that spoke was a woman. Red hair that reminded Harry of Lily Evans, and a dress in a shade to match. It was comprised of intricate designs, but Harry was not capable of such fine sight at the moment. Her eyes were an entrancing shade of alcohol brown, and over her shoulder was thrown a simple satchel. Her beauty was… strange, to say the least. It felt like an illusion to him, but at the same time… it was… reality?

"Who are you? How did you get in the castle?" Demanded Harry, who was well aware of who and what was permitted in and out, both physically or magically. 

"My name is Melisandre.' The woman spoke and smiled wispily. "As for how? The Lord of light has bid me see to your safety... my lord."


	5. Episode 5 : Beware, oh herald...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game has not yet begun.
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 12 months, 6 days.

Harry regarded the woman for the longest moment, intent on her very being. What he was seeing was so much different than anyone ever would, even her precious R’hllor. He was bearing the spear, so to speak, and jumping from her memory to memory. The fact that she did not break her gaze away from his only helped him, and soon her magical knowledge and past was all his. The woman began to shift her weight from foot to foot in uncertainty, but he was not put off by the image she projected of a weakling.

Having been through her entire being in the space of a few seconds, he very well knew what this Melisandre was capable of. She would have already tried – either with her impressive command over fire or her few helpers made of shadow. After all, once a Shadow Assassin was birthed, it could not be wiped from existence. Ever. It could be put to sleep for a while, but it would inevitably come back – a curious state of being, much like the Dementors of his past life. He absently wondered what use his Patronus would have on one.

He eyed his retinue with a calculating gaze. He was tempted to let them go toe to toe, but there were several unwanted consequences that could arise from that. For one, the fight would eventually be too much for none to notice, and he was not yet ready for magic to emerge out into the knowledge of the common population, yet. Second, killing Melisandre would spite R’hllor. He was not subservient to or concerned with him in any fashion, but he still did not know who he measured up against a god, and he’d rather not find that he is inadequate. Third, he was not so sure his people would win at all. Faith and devotion were, at times, more powerful than the strongest of magics. He’d seen faith influence both muggles and wizards, and knew it was not to be underestimated. Even in spite of the potent fire and shadow magic whose scent wafted from her in waves, he would have risked it if she weren’t such a manic supported of the god for centuries.

The blade she thought she concealed well on her thigh was inconsequential.

He tilted his head in curiosity. "And what has R'hllor demanded of me in return? I daresay that he is quite satisfied with our last encounter?"

The woman levelled him a sly look, as if she was teasing a friend. He wanted to sneer, she was no friend of his. "He has simply chosen to withhold details on the matter, my lord. However, his elation was felt by all of his followers."

"Just what I needed." Harry groaned, not in the least bit embarrassed. He had more important issues than worrying about an entire religious following feeling their deity’s intense orgasm.

Joffrey levelled Harry a look that let the latter know he would want answers later. "How did you get past the security detail?"

"My lord is the God of Light and Fire." Melisandre reminded him. "It is not often, however, that one remembers that the brightest light often cast the longest, darkest shadows."

Silence.

"And the answer is...?" Harry trailed.

The woman sighed. "I used shadows as a medium to craft a path as close to you as I could. However, there seems to be some sort of ... barrier... around your person...?"

She phrased the end of the sentence like a question, but he'd be dammed if he would give her the answer that easily. "I have my ways, girl.” He sneered. It was true – in spite of her considerable age and wisdom, he had lived tens of centuries longer than her. “What has he told you of me?"

"That you are a powerful sorcerer of unimaginable power." She said, without hesitation and with more than a little bit of awe. "What I can do would be like comparing a spark to a roaring forest fire if held against your capability. He said that you have journeyed here from a land far away with only one fellow traveller-"

He wasn’t expecting that. "What." 

She froze, because Harry was suddenly just an inch away, his retinue did not even see him move. "My lord?"

"What did you just say?" Harry demanded, heart lurching. 

"That... you arrived with a fellow traveller...?" She said hesitantly, eyes darting between his own captivating emeralds. 

Harry cursed inwardly, in every language he knew.

The only reason he had not thought to search for others like him was the manner in which he had arrived here - cursed. The ritual that the rebels he'd allowed to pull off was out of the norm, to say the least. 'Unending journeys for the wicked soul'? He had been extremely curious – more so than the most he'd ever been – simply because these rebels had been from another dimension. Ah, yes, his reign had grown so terrible, that the population was willing to go to any extent to have him removed from their world. His magical might far surpassed their best wizards and witches. Even combined.

The solution? Summon demons, of course. Solved all possible matters. No refunds on souls, however. 

How could someone else have possibly accompanied him? It couldn't be the original Tom, because he'd used the most complex spells he knew to find his soul the first thing when his magic was returned to him, and his soul showed no sign of being used as a Horcrux. There was no one the world had hated more than him, or even on the same level, to have used the same ritual again on them too, right? 

So, who from the old world followed him to Terra?

He mentally began a list of spells and rituals to try to figure it out, only when he had the sudden urge to smack his forehead and allowed himself the plebeian pleasure only this once.

All this time, he knew a ritual to gauge exactly what was wrong with him in the first place! Sure, he did not have the ingredients he needed right here and now for every single aspect of it, but if his current thought process was right, he didn’t have to.

Harry, of course, being Harry, chastised himself for his extremely obvious reaction and sighed theatrically, opting for a diversionary tactic instead. "And here I thought your god was all knowing. Serves me right for believing something as ridiculous."

Melisandre remained silent and expressionless; possibly torn between defending her master, dissing her new charge, or asking for clarification. Intriguing.

"Very well." Harry said, waving his hand. "You can come with me. I'll introduce you to your new comrades who can put you through your paces." Of course, it wouldn’t be the actual training program, but it would be a test to see where her aptitude lay. She was one of R’hllor’s most powerful followers and preparing his men to fight her one on one would be beneficial for him in the long run.

"My... paces...?" She asked, confused, but followed him nonetheless. He eyed her following him from the corner of his eye with a small smirk. His KingsBlade guard vanished in a single soft crack as they walked.

Joffrey joined them, sighing and shaking his head at the situations his brother found himself in. "You'll be confused a lot around him." He simply murmured, more about himself than the red-haired woman.

The walk up to King’s Attic was awkward and quiet. Melisandre seemed to delight herself in observing their surroundings, and Joffrey was too busy analysing the woman as much he could. Having absolutely no talent for Legilimency, the younger son of Robert had no other way of being useful at the moment. Harry briefly entertained the notion of simply… planting… the knowledge of the art in his mind, for a lack of better term, using the art himself. However, he soon crossed it out – the Mind Arts were his trump card, and it is best to keep one’s best cards close to one’s chest.

The clamour of weapons striking each-other and a low hum of background conversation ceased to be when the odd group of three entered the tower.

“This… is impossible…” Melisandre murmured, and Harry knew she was shocked beyond all belief.

The one exception he had added into the very wards that surrounded the Red Keep was to be excluded from the spell that equalized the planet’s land with magic. Because of that, any space expansion charm he used within the limits of the property did not result in reality shifting around it in order to find itself accommodated.

This meant that the tower still looked like one from the outside.

On the inside, the tower spanned a hundred and ten floors. One floor for each KingsBlade member to do with as they pleased, one each for Harry and Joffrey, two planned for Sansa and Bran, and six empty ones. Each circular floor was as long in diameter as the longest distance between two points in the castle, which basically meant each floor spanned as much as the ground level of the castle itself. The walls and floor were an almost-black dull-grey stone, and the ceiling of every level was made to glow pure white to cast unshaded bright light on everything beneath it, and yet charmed to be transparent from below in order to give a direct sight to the giant hole to the sky above, which would indicate the time – not that it was needed anymore, since Harry could spot a watch at the entrance floor, and wold no doubt find one on every level, at least. The only way to travel between each floor was to displace oneself, which gave it more security… not that anyone not directly keyed into the wards could even enter the tower, anyway.

“Welcome to King’s Attic.” He said and grinned weakly at her expression.

He gestured almost imperceptibly, and Midas was kneeling in front of him. “My Lord.”

“Midas.” He greeted and cracked his knuckles. “I hear you foresaw me marrying a certain someone…”

The man in question audibly gulped. “Please remember, my Lord, that I can only read the various possibilities that lay before us, and not influence them!”

Harry eyed him for the longest moment, then broke into strained laughter. “I’m certain you thought I was going to kill you, yes?”

The KingsBlade instantly sobered when he heard proof of his Lord’s declining health. “We haven’t been able to locate him yet, my lord. We are, however, doing our best. Should you not be resting after the strain from last night…?”

Thankfully, Melisandre kept her pie-hole shut on the matter.

Harry waved him off. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, and we’ll get there when we get there.” He said, then gestured to Melisandre. “I want you to take this girl and put her through routine two.”

The one known as Midas turned to regard her with a gaze that felt cold even beyond his identity-concealing garb. “Melisandre. You will follow me.”

The woman looked mutinous for a moment but gave in after a glance at Harry and took Midas’ hand, disappearing in a crack.

Immediately as she dispersed, the Master of Whispers let himself slump, and Joffrey was quick to catch him before his form crumbled. Needing no summon or sign, a KingsBlade agent was suddenly kneeling in front of them, holding out one of Harry’s rune-crafted potions – a Pepper-Up, in this case. He gratefully accepted the vial and downed it all in one go. “Ah, that hits the spot.” He said, even though steam blew out his ears.

Joffrey regarded him sternly. “‘Strain from last night’…?”

His older brother just shrugged, feeling much livelier than moments before. He stood and stretched a bit before sighing. “I expanded the city again.”

“At such a difficult time?!” the younger brother demanded, incredulous. “What is happening between Jon Snow and you certainly is a mystery, but we all have noticed the way it harms you so. Why did you- “

“I’ve been feeling antsy, and all sorts of strange, odd emotions I haven’t felt in a very, very long while.” Harry admitted. With a flourish of his arms, a glowing circle etched itself on the ground.

Joffrey instantly displaced himself to a few more feet way, and visibly scowled. “Should you be doing magic so soon?”

“This is important.” Harry muttered back and began to weave the runes around himself like it was second nature, moving from space to space as if it were a gigantic puzzle that spanned about nine or so feet in radius.

By the time he was half-way done, a clearly exhausted Melisandre was displaced back to the floor he was at,

He knew Melisandre found his flourishing motions captivating and knew even more that she could not decide whether to focus on him or the letters to a language she knew not that he left in the air and on the ground. That was his intent - to distract her from remembering too much. He wasn't aware whether or not R'hllor could see through her eyes, but he knew for certain that she was sent here instructed to be a spy - in whatever capacity she could fulfil that role. She was to care for him first and foremost – as if he needed care, how embarrassing – but also ensure that he did not do anything that left him weak, or incapable of being wed to the god when the time came.

The old him had made an art of reading a person through their performance in bed, and he was never wrong. R'hllor was going to be trouble in the long run, that was for certain. However, unless he could learn how to kill a God of this world permanently, he would not make any overt moves that could leave him in a precarious position.

On that note, he should probably raise deeper protections around Robert. R’hllor knew they had lain together. That would bode ill for his continued existence, and Harry was very attached to him – even with the way he was treated, the man was… like a cool breeze to a starving man in the desert. It was refreshing, but in what fashion, he could never fathom. How odd – once he knew everything about himself.

He etched the final rune and then waved his hand, hissing out the command to activate.

The runes flashed and then collapsed into lines, lines that formed circles around him and began to spike and fall like a cardiograph, in different colours and shades that he was sure only he knew the meaning of.

As soon as he discovered the problem his breath almost caught in his throat, but he managed to keep up a façade.

R’hllor was going to pay.

Jon and he shared a connection - there was no way he could ever deny that. However, Harry had no time for connections, so he obliviated the encounter and the act that consummated... whatever it was, causing the slate to be roughly wiped clean. But for the egotistic God, that wasn't enough - he had to go and try to break the bond entirely. Come to think of it, how did he realize it before him and manage to impact in any manner?

Regardless, now the bond was broken, yes, but it was never meant to be so - the feedback was tearing his head apart, and that was with all of the rituals he had performed to grant him immunity to illnesses both physical and magical. He closely suspected that they were the only reasons that Jon and he were alive.

This meant that... He was born with a soulmate in this world. How depressing.

Soulmates are different for magical people. Of course, they have a very low chance of meeting their perfect match too, but if they did and things progressed to the point that they shared a bed (and there was no way that wouldn't happen, considering that they were like the oddest Tetris pieces that just went together), the thread of fate that bound them together would ensure they always knew each other in all the levels it implied - such connections were often revered, even, if made public knowledge.

One little fact, though, was that if one died, the other followed shortly after. Call it a rule of fate or whatever, but once a magical soulmate bond was consummated, their lives were bound together.

While he did try and wipe the slate clean, on some level it was always going to be forged. By destroying it, R’hllor had doomed them both. He knew that history was going to repeat itself. At least it was someone else other than his partner who broke the bond this time.

He was about to disperse the reading when he paused and eyed the same line closely.

There was another colour there, between the emerald green that signified him and the reddish-green that showed Jon - a red nearly as dark as black, the shade opposite of Fiendfyre. It was alluring, yes, but it spelt damnation.

How in the world did he have two soulmates?!

He dismissed it and huffed, pushing his hair back absent-mindedly with his hand. He shoved the other signature to the back of his mind for now. If Jon and he were really soulmates, he would have to reform the bond the same way he did with Viktor and break it after a few years himself, properly. He needed to get calculating and divert the majority of his forces to search for the wayward bastard.

"Is there a problem, my lord?" A female voice asked, and Harry then remembered that Melisandre was in the same room as him. Joffrey had apparently left a while ago. Was he that involved in the act?

He eyed her for a moment, then hummed in thought. He used occlumency to branch out his thoughts as he thought of a way to divert her attention - time was of the essence. If he, with all his boosts to his health, was almost coming undone, Jon must be in pure agony.

And he had to get this out of the way to focus on their wayward hitchhiker, now, didn't he?

"Tell me, girl." He demanded, walking to the centre of the room as he waved his hands. Following his movements, burning orange lines etched themselves onto the floor. "When, in your opinion, would be the best time to reveal magic to the world?"

"Whenever my lord so wishes." She replied in a heartbeat. "My God never speaks lies - if you truly have the power to raze the seven kingdoms with a thought, then the world is your plaything."

Harry frowned. He was not strong enough to burn Westeros with a thought. Yet. He could only do so much wandlessly, after all. Now, if he had a powerful staff or another focus like the Elder Wand... blast that Seven-faced God - the key to infinite power was sitting just meters away from him and now it was forever gone.

"I do not care for flattery, dear." He chastised instead, bringing his hands spread out and drawing them in. The circles and runes he etched into the floor shrink with the centre at his position, and he continued etching once they reached the appropriate position. "Tell me your opinion."

There was silence for a few moments while he worked. He flicked his hand and all the things on the ground found themselves halfway to the ceiling for their crime of obstructing his work. He knew she gazed upon them with awe before she turned to him again. "Then perhaps never, my lord. Some things man is simply unprepared to learn. If witchcraft were to be made public, we would be hunted for our powers. And the rest of us are not even a hundredth as powerful as you to fend them off."

Harry ruminated on her words while he worked. Her wish would never come true - he would reveal his true nature with a year of Joffrey's rule, after all. And as for the preparedness of men?

A slight flick of his hand sent the intricate array up into the air, and another condensed the entire thing until it was a glowing flat circle no bigger than his palm. A gestured copied it and the two figures intersected, then runes filled themselves into the blank spaces to make it a sphere.

Men could easily be persuaded, he thought, smiling at his creation as the light died down. Men were fickle and weak, prey to desire and pleasure whether physical or mental. They could be swayed easily.

He reached his hand out and the object floated onto his palm. This was the result of years of work - replacing ingredients and natural magic for runes and their placements. He would never underestimate the art of rune-crafting again - Hermione had been right to prize it and Arithmancy above all of her other classes. He could work wonders now that he knew which runes replaced a blisterwort root, or what placement imitated the effects of a sliced eye of newt. And the image of the final product would transform the rune-work from a simple trans-dimensional object into a physical manifestation so that it could affect the immediate environment.

He rediscovered potion-crafting and alchemy with nothing but ANcient Runes and Arithmancy. Hard work, but fruitful. With his hundreds of years of knowledge in all of the fields of magic there possibly were, he was actually surprised he had not succeeded sooner, but better late than never. This object would help him repair Jon's and his bond, as he once did for Viktor and himself.

In his hand, he held a pinkish red stone – a stone that would soon be the key to his continued reign.

His right hand closed around it with possessiveness. A flick of his other hand transcribed the necessary runes in the air in an instant, and a portal opened to his very own time-freezing pocket dimension. Tossing the stone in, he took a deep breath and turned to face she who was to be his servant. He held out his hand, and asked, “The scroll, please.”

She walked closer and hesitantly handed it over. He gave her a knowing smirk. She had tried to read it, and much to her dismay, it had been blank.

“The information exchanged between members of the KingsBlade utilizes a code.” He deemed fit to inform her. The moment he touched seemingly random points on the unfurled scroll, letters began to draw themselves on the paper. “With it, information meant only for another member of my order it kept so – the chances of it leaking out are almost completely negated.”

“‘Almost’, my Lord?” she asked, and he had to give her credit – she did not try to peek into it again. Taking all his words at face value, hm? Quite the subservient one, she is.

“Never discount the chance for error.” He told her, his eyes skimming the words he had predicted. Her physical fitness was barely above average, but she had remarkable mental prowess – retention, fortitude, even imagination – these were all required for proper spellcasting. Her repertoire included a variety of fire and shadow magics, as he gleaned from her memories earlier. Nothing else of note. “Even the mightiest of sorcerers can fall to a well-shot arrow. Always overestimate your enemies – it is far safer.”

He burned the scroll away with a quick flick of his wrist, which did not surprise Melisandre.

“As you are now, you are worse than my even my worst recruit.” He told her bluntly. She still did not seem surprised, and only waited expectantly. Maybe Midas had pushed her down a peg or two? “For the next moon’s turn, you will train with Ghabri-Ela.” He said, and said operative appeared next to him in a crack, kneeling. “You will learn at least the basics of being under me. You will listen to her as if every word from her mouth were my own, for she is amongst those I trust.” If the operative’s chest seemed a little more puffed out, neither of the other two commented. “Remember, this is how you will prove your worth to me – if you fail, you can make your way back to wherever you are meant to be.”

“I will not fail you, my lord.” She said resolutely and maintained eye-contact until Ghabri-Ela walked over and displaced the two to her floor.

“My Lord.” Midas spoke, and appeared next to him. “About her results…”

“I know what you omitted.” Harry said. “Will you be able to break the compulsions if you have the time?”

“It… would take a week of continuous meditation, my lord.” Midas admitted. “I am unsure if, even then, she will be completely free of the subliminal messages to obey R’hllor.”

“We shall see how she fares with Ghabri-Ela.” He spoke. “If, when she returns, she is capable, then you will sit with her to break the spells on her. I will have a solution for the time-constraint by then.” He said and vanished in a crack.

He reappeared in his room. It was beyond twilight, and, from what he could tell, everyone of import was asleep. Maybe he was too absorbed in his work to tell the passage of time. He walked into the kitchens to snag a fruit, and then took a leisurely slow stroll back to his room.

It was when he reached the room, however, that he realized not all of his family were asleep.

“You are insatiable.” Harry shakes his head, closing the door and locking it securely with a charm. Another subtle flick behind his back sent silencing wards up and, when he was sure it was safe, he stretched. “I am a little tired, so if you would kindly leave- “

“You were sick, in the morning.” Robert said, eyeing him with a concerned gaze. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

The younger one just sighed. “I’m fine, father.” He said and took a seat on the armrests of the chair the man occupied.

A hand found itself snaking around his waist anyway. “I had made a … remedy … of sorts, that my own nan used to make for me when I was younger and ill.” Robert said, gesturing to the bowl on the table with his other hand. “Turmeric, honey, and flaxseeds ground to a paste. It should help you.”

His son eyed the bowl with pleasant surprise. “You made a home-remedy… for me… with your own hands?”

“Just eat it.” The man said, face a little pink. He grabbed the bowl and transferred it to the hand that was currently wrapped around Harry, jabbed the fingers of his other hand into it, and pushed it into his son’s mouth without a thought.

Both froze when they realized the position they were in. Harry was the one to come to, first, and began to suckle on the fingers, licking way the paste… and then when it was all gone, he used his tongue to play with the two digits in his mouth.

Robert’s countenance darkened with lust, and then there was only one way that things could progress for the next few hours.

Past midnight, Harry still lay awake, ensconced in Robert's arms. He needed a good enough way to cast the spells needed to shield the man from the God on his tail with a domination complex, and if he got a bit of relief from the tensions of running the kingdom from the shadows, well, who was he to protest?

He cast a strong sleeping spell on the man as he unwound his arms from around himself, and rose to a sitting position, stretching to hear the satisfying cracks as he raised his arms. He stood then, and his clothes flew to him and garbed him as he walked to the window. 

"My lord."

Harry lowered his hood and raised his mask as he walked to Herenn, who was perched on the windowsill. "Ah, my dear sweet girl. Have you found him, yet?"

"Yes, my lord." She nodded and handed him a roll of parchment. "He seems to be at the Wall, Castle Black to be specific. We know for certain that he is in no condition to make his vows, so the path you wished to take is still available."

"Blast it! Out of all the places... I will need to hurry." He sighed. "Take care of the castle while I'm gone, dear."

"With my life, my lord." She answered and vanished in a crack. 

Harry sighed, and cast a warming charm and a notice-me-not on his person before vanishing in a crack himself, reappearing after less than a second underneath the wooden bridge to Castle Black. With a few deft moves he was on top of the castle walls, and in a flash of black, he was inside. 

His suggestions had made the Night's Watch far more that it was just a few decades ago. The once revered organization was in a state beyond shambles and regarded as a laughing stock. It wasn’t the fault of the populace, however – when it was made up of disgusting criminals, and the gravity of their task went unexplained to the public, it was only to be expected that the group be as it were.

Whatever it was that Midas could sense in the north, he was definitely not going to take chances - he first ‘convinced’ Robert to order the release of every single man or woman in any prison across Westeros to the Wall - a bit harsh for minor crimes but it was no skin off his back. How he did that, was quite a… pleasurable tale. He then surreptitiously repaired and rebuilt the abandoned bases himself while unseen, or even while unknowingly working alongside the men and women repairing the run down 'castles' to raise them back to their former glory.

While only fourteen of the nineteen castles were occupied and filled now, any number was better than a measly three. Not to mention that the threat of being directly sent to the wall at any time for any crime, big or small, discouraged ill happenings across the kingdoms.

He did not, however, inform the populace about the purpose of the Night’s Watch. What could he say? That their ancestors had once seen something so dangerous and terrifying beyond the wall that they had built it to keep it at bay? With no proof and no grounds to speak this on, he’d be laughed off the figurative stage. He had to keep in mind that he lived in a world where dragons weren’t seen for centuries and magic was now considered mere parlour tricks and adapt accordingly. So, he just aided them from the shadows.

He plastered himself to the side as a large congregation of men made their way up from what had to be the main hall. Perhaps it was only just past mealtime... He was happy his rather weak notice-me-not held, and swiftly cast a stronger one. No need to take risks now, right?

He made his way to where he could sense the most spiritual pain in the castle, mentally making note to have them sent much more medicine. There were men here, he could sense, that had great need of them. Perhaps he could cast a modified Gemino curse on the supplies before he left them with? Or perhaps…

The door to Jon's room was ajar, and so he slipped in and shut it in one smooth, quiet move, followed by a quick Notice-me-not and a locking charm, just in case. He shot a strong sleeping spell at the man seated in the chair in the corner just in case he woke from his nap, on the wolf-dog like creature laying next to the man, as well as Jon himself. Then he took a deep breath, then cast the counter to his Obliviate on the man-boy, who at once began to toss and turn even more, in spite of being under the influence of his most powerful sleeping spell. 

Oh, bother. He really should have reconnected them before he did that.

He sighed and withdrew the Philosopher's Stone from his pocket dimension with a flourish. Crushing it in his bare hands, he let its dust fall over Jon's heart, then slowly chanted the Latin required. Transcribing the ritual into words, actions and runes had been a cakewalk, so he sped through the motions as if he had done them a thousand times over.

This was the only route he could come up with, even though it left him with little choice other than to accept the man when he inevitably would find himself at his side later. He could easily break the bond himself properly, or at least transfer it over to someone else, and carry out his plans for Westeros as he always thought he would. As for now, Jon Snow would live as he did before he met him, albeit with a slightly strange pull to wherever it was that Harry or their other soulmate would be. Hopefully, he or she would not currently be in Essos, since he didn't have as much of a foothold there as he did here in case the worse should occur.

He waved the runes into existence and watched with almost a detached fascination as they formed a circle each around ether of their forms. Watching rune-work come to fruition was most pleasing to the eye, especially when there were multiple disks involved. The way they danced in the air was mesmerising, and not far from calming enough that they almost lulled you to sleep. To work with runes the way he did, one first had to build a resistance to their effects on the mind, for effect the mind they did, in ways that would wreck catastrophic disasters upon anything in the vicinity.

He finished the chant and sealed it with a pulse of magic. Instantly, the runes and powder floated into the air and formed a line between his heart and Harry's and encircled them each thrice. There was an odd sound in the background, like that of a bell tolling, which made Harry almost freeze in dread, but then it passed and there was not another peep.

The mist and fiery letters then vanished in a pulse of bright white light. Instantly, the headache that has become a constant for Harry vanished. The man-boy on the bed too slumped in relief, but still remained unconscious – his body and soul likely recuperating from the unending agony they had found themselves in suddenly. He inched closer, too much like a frightened child, and shakily stretched his hand out to caress his forehead…

“Hadrian.” Jon moaned in his sleep and tossed a bit.

He never blushed as hard as he did then, and the best part – it wasn’t a pretence. Just the very sight of the man had him feeling all out of sorts, like his emotions were clobbering themselves son each other. It felt like there was something he was forgetting…

And he had the insane urge to simply disrobe and snuggle with the young bastard... who looked positively angelic even in his disturbed sleep. The man’s top half was bare, he only just noticed, and his torso glistened with sweat in the most mesmerising of ways…

No! Bad Harry! The boy was only just recovering! Jumping him was certainly not appropriate at all!

Having drunk his fill of the sight in front of him and having a far better grasp on his magic than he had ever since returning from Winterfell, Harry proceeded to slowly counter all of the magic he cast. The rather portly man on the chair almost jerked awake the instant his magic left his body but muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Hold door” and collapsed into sleep again.

Jon, however, sat up straight the moment Harry’s spell left him, and his eyes zeroed in on his frame. In turn, Harry froze, not unalike a deer caught in the gaze of a predator.

The two looked at each other for the longest of moments in silence.

 “You did something to me.” Jon accused in a whisper, finally breaking the silence.

Harry debated the pros and cons of simply Obliviating him again but decided that until he prepared for the rather lengthy ritual that would sever their bond forever, it was best to keep his most vulnerable chess-piece close to himself. He reapplied the sleeping charm on the still-asleep man with a sigh, then hesitantly took a seat by the bed. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

“Are you a warlock, of some sort?” he asked, tilting his face adorably. It likened him to the wolf-dog more than anything, in Harry’s book.

Said boy scoffed. “I am far more than those… purveyors of parlour tricks in Qarth.” Harry scoffed. “I am a wizard.”

Jon frowned. “Why did you do what you did?”

“For many reasons, most of which were selfish.” Harry admitted. “I wasn’t ready for the commitments that involved an emotional investment a tie like ours entails, mainly-”

“It’s true then?” he asked, eyes widening. “What I said that day at your station… we truly are bound?”

“We are.” The younger of the two agreed, reaching out to caress the other’s face. “Our souls were born destined to end up together – imagine a bond between the very essence of who we are, long before we ever became the people we are today. That is what we are, soulmates.” He explained, eyeing Jon with open reverence. “However, as you will soon come to know about me, my luck complicates most things – we have another soul destined to be with us.”

“Three… at once…?” Jon asked, confused. “I have never heard of such a happenstance.”

“It is possible, just extremely improbable, given the already low rates of those meant to be together ever meeting.” Harry informed him. “We are getting off-track. The reason I cast a spell to lock away our time together was simply because holding you at bay after the night we spent together would hurt both our souls. And… I haven’t conquered the world yet.”

The older of the two gazed at him as if he had lost his marbles. “Conquer the world? Are you insane?!” he whisper-shouted.

“In another life, I ruled over three or so worlds with ease.” Harry informed him imperiously. “All it takes is a knack for delegation.”

Jon’s mouth simply fell open into a small ‘o’.

“Look, Jon, this is something I didn’t ask for, and I will understand completely if you feel the same way.” Harry said, even though both parts of the statements he knew to be false and saying it simply hurt. “But it will take me some time to devise a way to break this off cleanly-”

“No!” the Stark bastard shouted with ferocity.

Harry’s eyes widened at the vehement denial.

It took a few breaths for him to properly control his breathing, but Jon soon spoke with calmness that could not fully contain the storm beneath. “One time, you have already severed our bond – or at least attempted to, without allowing me a say in the matter. That is not fair. This affects me just as much as it affects you! I have a right to decide our fate as well!”

“Why do I always get the self-righteous ones?” Harry bemoaned his fate. “Look, Jon, I’m sure you don’t want to be tagging along with me in the shadows-”

“Your presence would light my way enough.” He interrupted, reaching up to clasp the hand that the younger still hadn’t moved from his visage. “All I would need-”

“No. Stop. You’re being cheesy.” Harry almost wailed in frustration. “I don’t even like cheese!”

“‘Cheesy’?” muttered Jon, confused.

“Too emotional and sappy. Combined. Magnified ten times over.” He muttered. “Alright. Fine. Let’s do it this way – you can’t take me as your… anything… if you join the Night’s Watch. But, if you do not join, the honour of the family that sired you will fall.”

He clearly looked conflicted.

Harry grinned in victory. “Good. Think about that till next we meet.” He then moved to rise.

In a sudden flurry of limbs, he was pinned beneath the man-boy, who hovered over him like an overgrown bat. Wait, no, bad images. “You will not, at least, give me this night?” he asked, and was either consciously or involuntarily using his best puppy-dog eyes. It was super effective. “It feels like it has been ages since we touched…”

“I just had my hand against your cheek.” Harry deadpanned, but his face was red with embarrassment – now that he was in this position, he did not want to leave either.

Jon ground his body against Harry’s, drawing out a high moan that made the younger clasp his mouth to stifle the sound. “You pretend to be indifferent, yet your body says otherwise.” Jon murmured and bent his head to nuzzle the spot behind Harry’s ear that always set him on edge. “You must learn to control your reactions if you wish to be a good liar.”

“I am a good liar.” Harry grumped. “It’s just you that sets off all sorts of reactions that I had long learned to control… something about our bond, surely.” He turned from Jon’s face but made no further move away.

“If this… if I affect you so,” Jon whispered, trailing the edge of his nose against the tendons of Harry’s neck, “and it clearly brings you nought but pleasure,” he continued, to the hollow between his collarbones, then looked up and into lust-blown vivid green eyes, “why must you deny me so?”

“That’s a good question.” Harry breathed, and swallowed heavily. “Let’s get back to that one tomorrow, yeah?”

A couple of hours later, Harry closed the door on a fast-asleep Jon and took a deep breath. “He will be the end of me.” He decided and spun on his heel to reappear in his own room at the palace. A smile was still on his face as he disrobed and caressed the few marks his soulmate had left behind on his body.

His eyes slid from his body to the figure still fast asleep on the bed.

He had a big question now – what to do with Robert? He wasn’t going to go off skipping into the sunset with Jon – he had his own plans to hatch and the Stark bastard still drew breath to make his sire proud. The latter was pathetic, really. He himself had strived, once, to make people proud… and look where he was now.

Anyway, the crux of the matter remained – after the pull became too strong for Jon to resist, now that they had consummated their bond again and one had not ‘forgotten’ the encounter, he would eventually find himself in King’s Landing searching after Harry like a lost puppy. Given that the ritual to break the bond had… strange prerequisites, Jon would have to be around him for at least six moon’s turns before he finally performed it. Given that he would have one plaything in his grasp already, what would he do with the old one?

And what was he going to do about that thrice-damned R’hllor?!

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He had not had time for the last ritual to empower himself yet, the one that used a Philosopher’s Stone. It also took the entirety of two days to perform, and he’d have to spend a long time transcribing the ingredients into runes, first. Then, and this was the biggest question – a focus. What was he going to do without one?

He slinked onto his bed and set an alarm ward for an hour before sunrise. Some worries were best dealt with in a fresh state of mind.

The day dawned bright and colourful, and Harry was almost over the moon about finally being free from a horrid headache/despair state he’d been in. He was so happy, in fact, that he almost banged the door open in his eagerness to sit with his family for breakfast.

"Good morning, everyone!" He smiled and gently kissed his mother's and father's cheeks before he took his place, offering his brother a light grin. 

Cersei beamed. "You look in much better spirits today. I see you were right not to visit the Maester."

Robert simply levelled him a look, to which he did not react. He felt it was harmless to let the man draw his own conclusions. "Of course, mother. Besides, there is nothing that a Maester knows that I do not."

"As intelligent as a Maester, cunning as a spymaster, and resourceful to boot." Robert grumbles. "Yet still reluctant to take the throne."

Cersei and Harry exchanged a smug glance this time.

"Regardless." Robert continued. "I believe it is time to hold the betrothal announcement of you and the Stark girl. A ball...?"

"Actually, father," Harry interrupted, sipping his own blend of herbs, "it's Joffrey's betrothal, not mine."

Said boy spat out his juice. "What?!"

"Oh please." Harry waved his hand. "Your heart was captured by her the moment you gazed upon her visage. I would not be surprised if wagers were laid on when the two of you finally tied the knot! I only wonder what possessed Lady Stark and mother to pair me with her rather than you from the very beginning."

“Perhaps I was simply testing Joffrey’s resolve?” the woman offered with a sly smile. “At the end of the day, I am only a mother, you know.”

Joffrey’s face turned as red as a tomato. "Mother." He complained, crossing his arms. “There is no resolve to test! I- I find this accusation-?”

“‘Accusation’?” Cersei demands, now fully smirking. “I did not accuse you of anything, dear child.”

Noting the slip to chastise him of later, Harry just smiled serenely. "I can read you like the back of my hand, brother. Your fake incredulity did only waste your beverage."

"Why wasn't I told of this?" Robert demanded of his wife, but he looked noticeably happier. 

Warning bells rang in Cersei's head, but she ignored them in favour of believing that it was simply Joffrey's standoffish personality that gave her husband no hope that he would ever get married. After all, why would he be in ill temper if Hadrian is to be betrothed...? "I assumed I did. It must have slipped my mind."

"Oh well." He waved her off. "The point still stands. A ball for the announcement...?"

"We could call in the members of the ruling houses of all the kingdoms." Harry mused. "And the heads and families of their vassal houses. We can open up the courtyard for the common-folk of the town to feast themselves on the kitchen spread, too – it ought to liven the place up a little."

"Leave the decorations to me." Cersei beamed. "I know just what to do, and how to do it." 

"I suppose I'd best get to writing invitations, then." The king sighed. "And here I thought I was free of hand cramps for the day..."

"Actually…” Harry trailed, tapping the rim of his glass with his index finger, “if e were to hold a nation-wide ball simply for an announcement, won’t we have to outdo ourselves for the actual wedding?”

“True, I suppose.” Cersei hummed. “We’ll just have to think of something, won’t we?”

“I have a better idea.” Her elder son grinned. “Hold the wedding in a moon’s turn’s time.”

Joffrey proceeded to spit out his juice… again. “What?”

“You’re repeating yourself, brother. How plebeian.” Harry snorted. “Sansa is in the city, is she not? As is her patriarch. The rest that matter – the matriarch and the first-born – are back in Winterfell to guard the keep, but with the Pride Line they won’t have to leave it for long to attend. A few messages back and forth could finalize the whole thing.”

“But… one moon’s turn is not enough to finalize the whole deal!” Cersei remarked. “There is food to be cooked and-“

“-and nothing that would be much different than if it were the announcement, mother.” He gently reminded her. “In fact, given that Eddard is your Hand, father, I’d say that being done with this marriage as soon as possible would be best.”

Robert seemed to frown in thought. “And what do you say, Joffrey? Are you ready to tie the knot in a moon’s turn?”

“I… am comfortable with the decision, father.” Said boy managed to drawl as imperiously as he could while flustered. “Indeed.”

“Try ‘inwardly jumping for joy’.” Harry mused. “The date can be the same. If we sent invitations as soon as possible, it would even be in keeping with royal protocol.”

“I see the merits in your plan.” His mother murmured, but her eyes were focused on Joffrey with a knowing light. “Very well. Husband?”

“Would what I say make a difference?” the man playfully groused.

“No.” the rest of the table chorused.

“Since we are all in keeping, when exactly do you suppose we should hold it?" the king demanded instead, shaking his head with a fond expression.

"Isn't the Feast of the Father being held in a moon's turn?" His mother asked, head tilted. "It's usually an occasion spent in relation with matters of the Crown, but we are the royal family, after all." She spoke, a little smile on her lips.

"This is also the perfect opportunity, then," Harry thought out loud, "to introduce Joffrey as the crowned prince."

Silence.

"It's too soon." Robert spoke after a moment's passage. The mood at the table instantly soured. "The people still adore you more than him. And I am-"

"We are seldom at peace as we are now, father." The eldest son spoke, laying his cup down. "God forbid, but we never know when next a conflict may break out. If you do not make this proclamation sooner or later, I will be forced upon the throne by the masses should the undesirable occur. I will not acquiesce, and they will be ill-receiving of Joffrey. I will see this prevented."

Robert's and his gazes met in a staring match. "We will discuss this later." 

Harry just sent him a look.

"Whether or not he is announced as the crowned prince," the queen spoke, "his betrothal will take place." She then levelled her younger son a playful look. "If what I gather is correct, you are pleased with the decision?"

"Yes." Said an utterly red-faced Joffrey. Harry found it adorable.

So, did Cersei, apparently, because she cooed. "I'll get on the arrangements right away!"

They all stood at once, looking oddly synchronised. They departed the dining room from the same door, Cersei speaking animatedly with her son (who just listened in resignation) while Robert and Harry made their way to the former's office.

"You'll take care of security, I hope?" Robert spoke gruffly. "The KingsGuard would be too conspicuous in such an occasion of joy."

Harry sent him a smirk. "As I've told you before, father, cunning does not become you. Who do you want eliminated during?"

Said man simply mirrored his expression. "Nothing gets past you."

"The KingsGuard is always present with the king when there is a person not of the royal family in the room, save for Small Council meetings and in our private wing. To have them absent would give fools a false hope that they can succeed at any attempt at you, even if partially. Wanting me to take care of it from the shadows, knowing that I only strike to kill, means that you want someone who wishes you ill dead." Harry explained, holding the door open for Robert for him to walk in. "I just don't know who you would wish to strike down. I've already eliminated all of your staunchest naysayers..."

"This is why you should be king." Robert huffed. "Brain as sharp as a tack, you have."

"Why, thank you." Harry teased. “I do sharpen it regularly."

Robert rolled his eyes visibly and turned, closing the door softly and pushing Harry against it. "Why won't you be king?"

"I am more mother's son than yours." Harry said simply. 

"That is what you always say." Robert scoffed. He came closer then, his face only inches away from the others. "I want a clear-cut answer."

"I prefer to be the one performing the actions a realm is run by rather than wasting away on a glorified chair." He answered.

"Wasting away... glorified chair...?" Robert whispered. "Is that what you think of the throne… and me?"

Harry gave him an incredulous look and laid his hand flat against the other man's armoured chest, pushing gently. "You are a Baratheon. Our anger is feared enough that no t a soul dare crosses us." 

Robert kept silent, eyes locked on his son's as he was gently pushed away from the door.

"The last time you were angered, you rallied your allies and brought down a king feared by many enough to be the subject of a fable."

Robert didn't stumble as his knees hit his chair and fell in it smoothly. Eye contact between the two was not broken.

Harry proceeded to straddle him as he continued. "Yet now, when there is an entire world out there, begging and pleading for you to rule it as you do your own Kingdom and raise it as you have, and a willing artisan who would pour his life into the tools you would need for this endeavour, you do not even take a single step forward."

Harry paused, leaning in with almost agonising slowness to whisper in his father's ear. "Does it please you to be a complacent king with an army capable of taking down the very gods themselves if you so pleased?"

"Watch your words, little fawn." Robert spoke with a wicked smirk, hands curling in Harry's hair and yanking it back so that his throat was bared. "The anger you so admire is brimming."

"Then focus it on the rest of the world." Harry muttered. "I will never take the throne, but Joffrey will. He is your blood, too. What more have you added to this Kingdom for him to rule? All you have done is usurp. You haven't conquered."

Robert smoothly stood and slammed the boy on the table before him in a fluid motion. "Watch yourself."

"My KingsBlade will always serve the crown." Harry continued, seemingly at ease even in his current position. "But what use is it when all your enemies are dead, and 'peace' is achieved? Why wait for the other kingdoms to come to war with you? You have force beneath your control that can work wonders with the right direction of your orders! Why do you let it stagnate?! Your sword is already rusted as it is!"

“Harry!” Robert barked, and punched the table next to his son’s face. He visibly tried to reign in his anger. "You are lucky you are my son." Robert muttered through gritted teeth. He leaned down to murmur in Harry's ear. "I would have had you hung for your words.”

"You would have if I was someone else." Said boy whispered back in turn. "But I am Hadrian Baratheon, so you'll just fuck me instead."

"After Joffrey’s wedding," Robert whispered "after all the pomp and festivity is said and done, you will serve me in taking the new lands discovered west of our own. It will be his if he takes the throne."

"Spoken like a true king." Harry whispered back. “I’m surprised you are not arguing for me to sit on the Iron Throne anymore.”

“I can recognize a useless endeavour when I see one, Harry.” He said, eyes staring at him with an unusual intensity. “And I’d rather have you as my ‘queen’ instead.”

That brought Harry up short. “What?”

“The Sept would rebel, of course.” Robert mused. “Cersei and Joffrey will have to be dealt with, too. The masses would have to be persuaded, but it wouldn’t be hard. There’s something about you… something that none can resist… a certain charm.”

“Drivel.” Harry barked through gritted teeth. “You can’t be serious! This was all about lust – satisfying your perversions so you remained in line for mother!”

“At first, it was.” Robert admitted. “But then, over the years, it has changed from a simple fuck to something… more.”

“This is wrong.” Harry weakly whispered. The only thing he could think of was Cersei’s broken face when she heard… no. He wouldn’t let this… this man in front of him hurt his mother.

“Ah, but what we’ve been doing so far… all these months… what did you think that was?” the father chuckled and roughly ripped at Harry’s collar. “Don’t play innocent! I know you, Harry, and I know you’re thinking of ending me even now. Go ahead, try to. You will know the truth then.”

Without hesitation, Backbiter was in his hand, and on its way to ending Robert’s life. Only, it stopped a few centimetres away from the man’s neck.

“You see?” he spoke, not unkindly. “Your body betrays your tongue. Your heart too, if I’m right. And I’m seldom ever wrong about you. Why won’t you give in?!”

That startled Harry out of his funk. Had Jon not said something along those lines just last night? Yes… dear, sweet, gentle Jon… that’s who he’d rather spend the rest of his days with – not this pig in front of him! He may have reared this particular monster himself, but he never intended it to be so. However, he should have remembered that what one intends seldom comes to pass in exactly the manner in which they envisioned it to.

"Now let's get on with what we really came to do, hm? If we are to conquer a continent, I will need to prepare my men.” Robert chuckled coldly, and Harry surrendered to his ministrations. Now was not the time to act – now was the time to think.

The Robert problem just got a whole lot worse.

He would never be able to describe his emotions as he just… lay there. Robert wouldn’t stop to ask him what was wrong – it just wasn’t in the man’s nature to care about much once he began. But for Harry, such intense emotions he had only felt once before, and his heart was trying so hard to control them that it wasn’t even funny.

Something was very wrong with him.

First with Jon the night previous, and now with Robert? His emotions were all over the place. A few days ago, this wouldn’t have even phased him. That thrice-damned Stark bastard, all had only gone pear-shaped since their encounter!

It was only once his father was done with him that he moved, albeit gingerly. In spite of his physical fortitude, Robert could be a bit too much on his poor body.

"There will be no tourney this time. On my name-day, I mean." Harry informed his father, sliding his hands through the long sleeves of his coat and buttoning it up. "I tire of the same festivities each time."

"The common folk would be disappointed." Robert whispered in way of reply, still bare above the waist. "You dress to tease. At least, the actual wearing is... tantalising."

Sensing that his father was in a mood for banter, Harry strengthened his now-ever-present Occlumency shields and sent himself in a better fugue state. "It's an art that men of the rougher disposition won't understand." He sagely explained, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. "Let's just say some of the whores I've converted were very grateful."

The king's change in demeanour was immediate. His face grew stony as he stood and grabbed Harry's hands to wrench them behind his person. "You are mine to pound. No one else."

"I'm not a possession." Harry snapped back. "If you're interested in pounding, go sleep with your wife. I hear you're getting chummy with her lately."

“Your mouth is talented… although I knew that already.” Robert murmured. “But do not try to fight that which is inevitable.” He said, releasing his hand.

Harry glared, stretching his hand out to smooth away the kinks. "I don't know what kind of sick perversion you fulfil by using me, but I'm not your toy, possession, whore, partner, or whatever you want to call the person on whom your heart has landed."

Robert just looked at him with a cold gaze. "So, you feel nothing?"

Harry did not respond. Inwardly, he was rewriting plans and shuffling the phases of his ambitions - for all that he said Robert was incapable of being cunning, the man was clever enough to mask his own emotion from himself... A sign of a talented liar. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will invite Lord Stark for you to discuss the betrothal with. Get dressed."

He walked to the window and threw it wide open. "Oh and unlatch the door. No one saw us walk in together, but the sounds we made may have travelled far. Someone seeing you alone in the room will enable their imagination to take over." A lie, of course. He silenced the room as soon as the door shut, but it was fun to see his father squirm.

Today was one of many times that the man used force against him. Enough was enough – everyone had their kink, but this was something he was very uncomfortable with. Being used to having all the power in any situation, it caught Harry in a most uncomfortable position that e could not simply get used to. The next would result in his death, father or not.

And, with a mocking bow, he threw himself backwards and fell. Mid-air, he transformed into a raven and used his wings, taking flight.

He flapped almost angrily. All he wanted was a bit of amusement... hm, he supposed it was time to replace Robert with Renly, coerce the man into forgetting Loras. A new toy ought to do him some good. 

But what of Jon? Until he could rebalance he ritual, he had no way of breaking a soul bond. And because he had a god on his tail, he was not too keen on testing exactly what happens when one soulmate betrays another.

No, he shook his head. He would deal with his tasks one step at a time, and not all at once. He rolled himself into a barrel-roll and vanished in a crack, emerging from a shadow in the Stark mansion in the city. Transforming back into a human, he made his way to the door and knocked. Flying was good for thoughts to flow, but he needed to distract himself now.

The servant who opened the door was a cute one. Her breasts were a bit small, but Harry wasn't that sort of man. Instead, when she turned around to go and fetch Sansa after having him seated, he examined her derrière, or at least, as much as it could be with her garbed in medieval clothes. Hmm... He supposed he should slowly change the fashion a round here - the people, both men and women, we're bound to be grateful.

"Harry!" Came the call, and Sansa came barrelling down the stairs. "You complete idiot! Are you hurt?!”

Said boy just gave her a vacant look. “What?”

“Your fall, from my balcony.” She said as if it were most obvious what it is she is talking about. “You fell from a great height. Are you alright?”

It was then that his mind recalled the way in which he had exited from his last visit and gave her a smile. “I am happy to see that you care.”

She hit him on his shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that, next time! I wanted to come to the palace, but my father just smiled at me and said I would understand why you did that soon.”

“So, he hasn’t told you?” the boy asked, arching an eyebrow. “The man has honour in spades, I’ll give you that.”

“Told me what, exactly?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“You will know in time.” Harry grinned and sighed. “Sorry if I seem out of sorts. I have had a strange couple of days.”

“Or you didn’t completely recover from your fall.” Sansa teased, then her expression smoothed out a bit. “Are you here to begin our lessons?"

"Not exactly." He responded but smiled. "Have a seat. I wanted to speak with you about an... important matter." 

Her smile melted a bit, but not by much, and she took the chair he gestured towards. "Is something wrong? Are you not going to be teaching me?"

"Nothing of the sort." He assured her. "I... I assume you're under the impression that we are to be betrothed...?"

"About that, Harry..." she began but hesitated. "I... have been thinking..." 

"Oh?" He asked, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. "Do go on.” He was planning to play the hesitant but supportive brother figure, but it seemed there was no need for that.

She answered hurriedly, and with wide eyes. "I am sure whichever girl finds her hand in yours by way of marriage will live a happy life in your company! It's just... I don't think our dynamic would flow easily into being betrothed... I think we are better as friends..."

He couldn't keep it in, anymore. He laughed. "I know, I know. It's why I've come here."

She looked a little bit annoyed now. "You could have simply told me that upfront, Hadrian."

He raised his hands in the universal symbol of surrender. "I apologise. But no, seriously, I am here to talk about your betrothal... only, with Joffrey."

She instantly turned bright red.

"That's all the confirmation I need." He grinned at her pinched look. "It's odd - the two of you have had the exact same expression when you were informed... and expected me to believe you."

"Oh, you prat." She huffed. "So, it's true then? I am to be betrothed to Joffrey?"

"I am here to invite Lord Stark to speak with our King regarding it. But I wanted to see how you received the idea first." Harry admitted.

The girl smiled, a little bit of her previous raging blush still occupying her cheeks. "You really do care... I wish my brothers did..."

His eyes narrowed. "Oh? Is Lord Stark absent, still? Even after a change of weather?"

She looked at him a bit oddly. "No, no! Father has been spending a lot of time with me, recently. It is like he is a completely different person, here."

"Oh. That's pleasant news." He smiled. "Just like him, your brothers will come around. Maybe they just needed to see you in a new light, or something of the sort." He stood then, with little ceremony. "Alright, then. My work here is done. Kindly inform Lord Stark my father would like to see him personally when he returns from ... where is he, anyway? He's rarely in his office at the palace..."

"He's out a lot, these days." She admitted, biting her lip. "The candles in his room stay lit till I go to sleep, and possibly after. I don't know where he goes, but whatever it is he is bothered by is clearly taking a majority of his attention."

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Harry hugged her, then sighed and stretched. "I have some other obligations today, so I think I should make a move. Take care, now." He waved.

“Wait, Harry.” Sansa said, and he turned back around to look at her biting her lip. “Does… does Joffrey agree with the betrothal?”

“Now, now, that would be telling.” Harry waggled his finger and swiftly made his exit with female screaming chasing him out. It was only when he was more than a few paces away from the mansion that he let his smile and pace drop.

"Why am I having a bad feeling about this...?" He murmured to himself, walking into the shadow of a nearby alley, from where a loud crack was heard a moment later. 

After a quick status report on all their operations within the Seven Kingdoms, Harry could be found working in his workshop, on a new matrix. It was an ide that only just popped into his head, and he was most eager to try it out.

The runes slid together, weaving and sliding just where they ought to be, moved by the pure mental force that he exerted upon the very world itself. At the end of the day, that's what Wizards were - people with the ability to manipulate reality.

Finally setting themselves, the runes then it elongated, roughly to exactly twenty-seven-point-nine-four centimetres, and then began to shift, change.

Finally, when the runes bled away into a wood, he was holding his old Holly and Phoenix Feather wand.

He took the time to really look at it, marvel at its existence. In essence, what he had just done was use runes to define the very object itself - every dip, every nick in the wood, every change in feel. Considering the sheer number of molecules that made up anything more than a centimetre long, doing so manually was impossible. So instead, he imbued his actions with the very memory of holding his wand - he withdrew the silvery strand, and let it wrap around his work.

The result? His own wand fabricated from reality itself.

He... truly was a god...

There was a knock on his door, and he quickly slid his wand inside the drawer. Old habits die hard, it seemed.

With a wave of his hand, everything that had to be kept away from prying eyes turned invisible and intangible. Nothing in the chamber emitted noise, so they were safe.

His very own chamber of secrets - all it was missing was a basilisk. What in the world was he waiting for?

No, seriously. Why had he not hatched a basilisk yet?

A knock came on his door, this time more insistent. It couldn't be any of the servants, then - they'd dare not knock twice.

"It's open." He called back and got back to his work on what he could remember of a telephone.

Eddard Stark was the one to enter, and his eyes did not know where to stop. Harry supposed that was a normal reaction - the sheer size of the room allowed for a large number of display items. In particular, the man's attention was drawn to the variety of guns he had on display - conjured ones, but functional nonetheless.

"Ah, I see the firearms have captured your fancy." He said instead, smiling genially as he walked closer. "My brother is often drawn to them himself."

"A 'firearm'?" He asked eyebrows scrunched, and forehead creased. Probably trying to imagine fire coming out of those holes. Imbecile.

"Yes." Harry nodded emphatically, then took a 9mm pistol down from the display and pointed it at the dummy in the other end of the room. "Watch." He said simply and nailed it right between the eyes.

The man was awestruck. "This... This is..."

"A successor to the bow." Harry allowed, although comparing a gun to a bow was... insulting. "Faster, stronger, capability to pierce metal, and durable. Easy to craft, if you know how. And the energy it uses to fire... well, let's just say the secret is safe with me." He smirked, setting it back where it belonged. "I don't think, however, that man is ready for it. The only thing keeping even more wars from happening is the cost - both monetary and energy-wise. With this... I don't wish to see my world crumble."

The Stark patriarch looked at him for the longest time, then eyed him from tip to toe, as of reassessing him. "Sansa has told me you worry for her wellbeing. She believes you care for her more than her own brothers."

Ah, so that's what this was all about. Harry prepared himself to play the 'socially awkward but actually very capable teen'. "She's wrong. Well, probably. I care for her, yes, but I am certain her brothers care for her more. They're family. Isn't that what family does best?" He added a slightly bitter tone to the last sentence for an added bonus.

He was rewarded when something seemed to click in the man's head, and his entire countenance changed. When he came in, he seemed to be prepared for a confrontation. Now, however, he seemed ready to comfort. "Your grace, I think we should have a seat. There is a lot of things we need to talk about."

Harry overdid a confused expression just for laughs and chucked awkwardly as he gestured towards a set of three chairs near his drafting table. "Sure. I apologise, I am not used to much of human company. And in this room, I try not to pretend to be confident when I am not. It's... my place."

The man shot him a look. "Pretend?"

Harry sighed, sagging into his chair. "There are a lot of things happening in my life, Lord Stark. Not all of them are... pleasant..." he 'hesitated', shifting uncomfortably - this wasn't entirely false. Faking being vulnerable was far harder than he recalled. "I try to maintain a positive exterior. Outside of this room, I am Hadrian Baratheon, Master of Whispers and inventor extraordinaire - great with people and cunning beyond doubt. Inside... I am just Harry, a boy trying out the ideas that pop into his head." He shrugged. "I have often found that falsifying your confidence actually grants you some." He added with a grin. "It's empowering, just go believe that you are empowered. Nothing feels beyond your reach."

Eddard smiled at that and seemed to get lost in a memory. "Yes, your grace, that much is true. If only you knew Arya better - she always talks on about confidence and the like... I daresay she's the strongest out of all of my children."

"That's good." Harry smiled 'sadly', looking away. "Being strong is very hard."

There was silence for a few scant moments before he dropped an atomic bomb. "I know about what your father does to you, Harry."

Said boy froze completely. The Stark head probably took it as confirmation, since he sagged a little, but Harry was extremely surprised. He silenced the rooms, ensured no-one was around... what could have possibly slipped through his notice?!

"The late Lord Arynn... He kept a coded journal hidden behind the first horse carving on his bedframe." The older Stark explained. "In it, he has written accounts of watching Robert... watching him... well, he saw it. Two times, might I add - once by the stables about three years ago-"

Ah. Shit. Harry had been too out of it that day thinking about the training he'd put the KingsBlade through to put up enough privacy spells.

"- and another in his study, when he.. used the fireplace poker to scar your back."

That was when Harry had decided to get drunk because one of his riskier endeavours had pulled off. Of all the rotten luck!

"Lord Stark." He spoke, and his voice was quaking. The man probably took it as fear, but he was feeling only anger - anger at himself for forgetting such a vital deal! He's never going to lay with the man again without the needed spells. "Please... Please tell me not another soul knows..."

"No, my boy." He said, smiling sadly. "None else know."

Harry's mind was whirling at a rapid pace. The Stark family was to be his plaything, yes, but he didn't want to start when they were all separated the way they were! If he was to kill Eddard now, he wouldn't be able to maximise the amount of drama he'd glean off their misery-

"Except your mother, that is."

His world stopped short.

The man was pointing to the door, and his hesitantly followed his pointer finger.

His eyes filled with true tears when he saw Cersei's face.

Pain.

A lot of pain... He never wanted this! He had a mother this time around, he wanted her to be happy! He'd make Robert happy and the man himself would keep his mother satisfied; that was the whole deal!

"Mother..." He hesitated and felt true shame at that very moment. Shame for his sadism, shame for everything he'd done... "Lord Stark… why..."

"He had to ask me where you were." His mother said, but her voice broke two times in that one string of words. "Oh, Harry!"

The two met midway and collapsed to the floor in tears. Both cried because of guilt - one for the actions he did that led them to this day, and the other for not noticing - all the signs were in front of her face, and yet she was unable to see them, in her opinion.

"I'm so sorry, mother." Harry sobbed. "I tried, I really did, but he-"

"Hush, my child." She said, kissing his forehead and then the sides of his face in a harried manner. "It is I who should apologise. I never noticed..."

"He said he'd keep you happy." Harry sobbed, but he could feel his tears drying so he made to wipe what was left. He took in a deep breath and spun a story. "He said he would keep you happy if I laid with him. I... I only wanted-"

"I know, my son." She nodded, eyes beyond wet now. "I know you'd never hurt me otherwise."

Some part of him deep beneath the surface broke a bit on hearing that - here he had a second chance, he had everything - a loving family, a Kingdom to save, a world to raise... and so far, all he'd done was merry-make.

Not like he was going to stop, mind you.

This is what he was talking about! The roiling emotions, the rise and fall of tension and intrigue - this Is what he missed from his old life!

The game had truly begun at this moment. The only one he cared about in this world was his mother. The rest was fair game.

He took her in his arms again and grinned maniacally behind her back where Eddard could not see. A way to end Robert had finally revealed itself.

It was time for Joffrey to take the throne.

But there were things he had to see to first, things that would lead up to the end of this first chapter in his life.

Eddard, his mother, and he planned the rest of the day. It didn’t truly require that much time, but given the repentant nature of his mother for what should truly be his burden to bear… well, he wasn’t going to look a gift-horse in the mouth, now, was he?

That night Robert did not enter either one of their rooms. Perhaps Eddard knew, on some level, that there would be bloodshed, today, if that wee to happen. Harry thus opted to put his mother to sleep with a song.

The moment his mother lay next to him on his bed, he cast the strongest sleeping charm he could on her and slid out, putting out the candles and tucking her in with the blanket she favoured summoned from her room.

"I'm sorry, mother." He said, caressing her face. "I could never bring myself to Obliviate you, and I can't turn back time without the Elder Wand or a time-turner - objects too immense in power to fabricate. I swear you will be loved someday. But just... not with this man."

He kissed her forehead and left the room via the window.

First things first – Robert.

Finding him was not difficult. He was actually at Stark’s mansion at the hour and completely sloshed for the night. So, instead of having the KingsGuard create a spectacle by carrying him all the way back to the castle, the man simply opted to sleep there itself.

He flew straight into Robert's room and transformed back into a human. He cast his gaze on the man, secretly sending out a prayer to whatever god remained in this wretched realm to send the man to heaven. He too, after all, had an unpleasant life.

He then cast the strongest sleeping spell he knew on the man and held his eye-lids open and began to modify his memories – the words exchanged between them just so, the events slightly different. It would make all the difference when the time came for the man to believe the false story himself.

When he was done, the straightened himself and took a last lingering glance at the man, then turned to fly back out-

And stopped.

Why in the world was he waiting for his mother to pull off the kill? The woman would most certainly use poison, something difficult to cover up. Pycelle may be afraid of his very shadow, but he did honour his oaths as a Maester properly. Needless complications could be avoided if he just turned around and killed Robert now.

His senses alerted him of a presence by the door and a subtly cast charm identified it as Sansa.

How opportune. This chance had to be given to him by the gods themselves.

“You did as you pleased with me.” He said, not too loud and not too soft, turning and glaring at the man on the bed. “You promised you would treat mother well if I listened, but it was never about mother, was it? This all about you and your sick perversions!”

He ignored the gasp by the door. It was almost inaudible, and he could later claim he was too shrouded by emotions to pay attention to much else.

“I loved you. Perhaps I always will.” He said and forced tear to fall that glistened in the candlelight. “I only wish it were enough for you.” Then he summoned his wand and pointed it as his father with a flourish. “Avada Kedavra _._ ”

A flash of green light later, Robert’s snores abruptly stopped.

There was silence for the longest moment while he stared at the man’s lifeless body. He felt most strange as if he had just broken his own heart with his own hands, but just spat at he body instead, then turned on his heel and apparated to the roof of King’s Attic, still holding out his wand.

Things could go two ways from here, but it would result in either Eddard or Sansa having confirmation that he was a wizard, which was a win either way in his books. His road to fostering Bran and teaching Sansa was now fully clear of obstacles.

Now that he had a wand... nothing in this world was beyond in reach.

Slamming down his Occlumency shields, he simply continued with his plans. "Accio Incriminating Evidence About Hadrian Baratheon."

He had to wait but a few moments for three books and a note to slap into his palm from different parts of the castle.

The first was the expected Jon Arynn's diary. He burned it on the spot.

The second and third was by Master Pycelle - the steaming pile of dung had made two copies in case he found out about and took the other one. Hm. It seemed the Maester had outlived his amusement value. His death would happen now - enough waiting.

The last, however, was a letter from Eddard to his wife, him telling her of the 'atrocities his dearest friend had committed'. Well, dammit.

He immediately apparated straight into Stark mansion this time and made his way to the biggest bedroom. He did the same to Eddard what he did to Robert - the subtlest manipulation of his memories. He believed that he himself burned Jon Arynn's diary so that no one could learn of Robert's disgusting fetish. He also layered in a compulsion not to disclose the information, or discuss it, with anyone except Robert himself – who was dead and gone by his hands – his mother, or Joffrey. His work was done there.

Oh, speaking about Joffrey...

He paid a visit to him too, forcing him asleep and sneaking past his Occlumency barriers in order to modify his recollections - this time, it was him placing a few 'Inconsistencies he'd noticed' in his recent memories, as well as a prominent thought that Harry would rather die than cast a spell on his own family.

Oh, how amusing the following days would be...


	6. Episode 6 : ...for it is often said,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempting fate was never so infuriating.
> 
> Age: 17 name-days, 11 moons, 12 days.

The day after Robert's funeral dawned dull and bleak. For a moment, Harry thought he was in Wintertown instead of King's Landing, the weather reminded him so much of there. The light that filtered down through the giant skylight up above was grey and barely contributed to the brightness in the tower of King's Attic. 

With a flourish of his wand, Harry conjured six target dummies and banished the wand back to whence it came. 

Then they moved.

Beams of green light, he dodged. When the floor beneath him caved, he jumped. Withdrawing Backbiter from the sheath it now openly had on his back, he slashed through bolts of magic that would have broken his bones, and they sizzled and vanished. He trained for the greater part of an hour, this way, and continued to do so for much longer until there was finally a change in the routine.

The dummies began to move, then, all edging him towards the wall while trying to be secretive of their intentions. It was not to be. 

Harry turned and, after taking less than half a second to get his bearings, ran straight at the wall, then up it. At the peak of whatever distance that he managed to run, he launched himself backwards, showering throwing knives upon the dummies with careful precision. 

Having hit key points in their make-up, the animated mannequins crumbled in their constituent body parts, then vanished. 

He was not even close to being tired. He stood with grace, and waved his hand, instead. All the knives that had left his fingers levitated into the air and a 'come hither' gesture had them fly right at him and into their own sheaths on the inside of his trench-coat.

The sound of clapping withdrew him from his inner world, and he looked up to see Jeffrey leaning against the far wall, a shimmering shield around his person. "Amazing, as always, brother." He complimented and made his way forward.

A teasing grin covered Harry's visage. "Thank you, my king."

His brother made a face. "I haven't been crowned yet, remember? Why stand on formality now?"

"You will be crowned on the day you tie the knot, and not a minute sooner." Harry smirked, giving his brother a knowing look. "Besides, our mother is Queen Regent till then, so you're or actually ruling the Seven Kingdoms, already."

"I long for the day when we shall name It our empire, brother." The younger of the two said, wistfully.   
Harry slung his arm around his brother's shoulder and apparated them straight to his workshop. "It's not as if we can't, now, it would just make more sense to get everyone's say-so, first. I'd rather not fight a war, however short, simply because our seven constituencies do not sense pee eye to eye."

Joffrey snorted and began to lead them out of the chamber and towards the Council-room. "You are a strange one. Even with the powers you possess, you prefer to stick with subtlety and machinations. If I were in your shoes-"

"You would have missed a lot of entertainment." His brother completed, and a hard glint entered his eyes. "Unfortunately, brother mine, you aren't. In my shoes, that is."

Joffrey levelled him a look from the corner of his eyes. "Of course not. If I was in your shoes, our father would not have-"

"Pick your next words carefully." Harry cautioned him, eyes hard. "You may know some of the story, thanks to your skill at Occluency, but that doesn't give you the right to question my moves. You're centuries too young for that, even with that wand in your grasp."

His younger brother did not respond, but his eyes were equally as concrete as they finally entered the council chambers. His mother sat at the head of the round table and smile warmly at him when he entered. Her gaze flickered to Joffrey and her gaze reduced in intensity a tiny bit but maintained its emotion. Harry returned her smile, and Joffrey nodded back.

The others present eyed the family warily. It was no small news that Harry had been absent from Robert's funeral, and the smallfolk were tearing it up trying to look for juicy bits of information. They let the news simmer for a day - long enough for it to reach the ears of the Lords and Ladies before they decided to call in this meeting.

Harry eyed the empty seats with mixed emotions. While he was happy to finally end Pycelle's life - a moment of satisfaction that truly made his night, he was sad to see Eddard resign. The man would be returning to Winterfell after all - he had decided that if he could not tell what his friend had become... He was no use as the Hand.

All the same. Harry was truly running the kingdom, anyway.

"We are gathered here to celebrate a couple of new appointments." Cersei spoke, and her voice was authoritative enough to get even Harry sitting up straight - or maybe he was just biased because she was his mother. "Archmaester Pycelle committed suicide last night - his body was found today morning with no note. And Lord Stark has resigned in light of things he had... discovered about my late husband."

"Forgive me, my queen," interrupted Barristan, eyes gaining a hint of dread, "but there have been rumours... rumours that it has something to do with Prince Hadrian."

"Those rumours would be correct then." Cersei said, lips pursed and eyes wet, but otherwise calm. "I will not disclose-"

"Mother." Spoke Harry, putting his head in his hand to come off as believably resigned. "The Small Council deserves to know."

Hidden behind his hand, he saw Joffrey's fists clench tight from where he sat in a new seat next to his mother, but he remained silent.

They had discussed this at length. Where Eddard and Joffrey both believed the 'truth' should be kept under wraps (one, because he valued his friend's reputation even beyond his death and the other because he knew his father did not take undue advantage but only accepted what was given at his demand), both Cersei and Harry believed the truth should be aired to the public (one because she was feeling vindictive and the other because it would be very much amusing to see how the masses would react to knowing their king buggered their unwilling prince). Although Cersei got cold feet thinking of Harry's own reputation, the elder son of Robert did not wish to back down now, when there was so much more entertainment to be had. 

"It is better than them drawing the wrong conclusions from other sources." He continued and raised his head to stare deeply into his mother's eyes with resolve. 

She looked at him in turn, then nodded.

He took a deep breath and cast a gaze around. All of the occupants of the room now knew something foul was afoot. "My father, Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, coerced me every day to lay with him under threat of ill-treating, parting with, or ending my mother."

Silence.

"What?!" Renly demanded, slamming around foot hand on the table. "How long has this been going on?!"

Stannis looked as pale as a sheet. 

"A few years." Harry admitted, looking up to the ceiling. "It began sometime around my fifteenth name-day."

“Oh.” Renly eloquently said.

“It was stifling, at first.” He said, though most of his attention was on Joffrey. His reactions were… amusing. “The way he looked at me would sometimes make me afraid for my well-being, but as long as mother was alright, I swore not to tell a soul.”

“This is why you were not at the funeral?” Tyrion asked, tone quiet. The man was probably putting two and two together to realize that Hadrian’s life was pretty messed up at this point.

“Were you in my shoes, would you be?” Harry said simply in response.

A pregnant pause permeated the room.

“Regardless, this is not why we are here.” Harry spoke smoothly, eye filled with bitter laughter – not a single person in the room could meet his gaze, either out of guilt, anger, or pity. “My Queen, if you would…?”

“Ah, yes.” Cersei said, then cleared her throat. “To fill the empty posts, I propose two names, one Maester Ravin Claw, a talented individual the order was hiding from the crown.” She then smiled awkwardly. “Apparently, they did not want to lose him to King’s Landing, preferring to keep him within the organisation where he would prove more effective.”

Joffrey’s eyes met his in confusion, while Harry just smiled. Having one of his own men on the Council could only help him, and since a seat was empty…

A man previously standing in the shadows emerged. He looked to be in his late ages, with peppery hair and a slightly wrinkled complexion. It was hard to describe his body given the baggy robes and thick chains he was adorned in, but his expression was nothing short of friendly.

“It is an honour to be here, Queen Regent.” The man said, and though his voice was gruff, his voice was kind. “The Archmaester himself would have been here if it weren’t for the preparations he must he to.”

“Preparations…?” Asked Tyrion.

“In time.” Cersei said, and if her tone was icy, no one commented on it. “As for the seat of the Hand, since Lord Stark has chosen to resign, I would prefer to hand the badge of office not only to someone he trusts, but also a person the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms would gladly follow.” She said, then smiled at her son. “Hadrian, come and occupy your new seat.”

“While I do not doubt Harry’s skill in the least,” spoke Stannis, “who would take the mantle of the Master of Whispers, then?”

In response, Harry snapped his fingers.

Herenn dropped from the ceiling, garbed in an almost stitch-to-stitch copy of Hadrian’s own garb. It was quite… eye-grabbing.

“This is my second in command.” Harry spoke. “She knows the KingsBlade as well as I do and is capable of running my spy network, which now spans all of the known lands, just as I would. In addition, Herenn also has a few connections of her own, which can only bring more to the table.”

Herenn simply bowed and said nothing else as she accepted the badge of office he held out and pinned it to her robes. She occupied his previous seat as he took the Hand’s badge but continued standing.

“Now, on to important matters.” She said and took the scroll Hadrian held out. “Harry informed me of all the plans the Council has made, and I approve. It is only under one banner that the Seven Kingdoms can rise as a whole. While I respect tradition, we have been frozen in the same state for hundreds of years. Perhaps… it is time to grow. The creation of an empire and establishing a central power will make leaps when it comes to creating a sense of order. Hadrian…?”

“By your leave.” He bowed, then spoke. “As we are now, our way of life is only slightly better than the savages we encountered past the sea to the West. Crime is judged based on how far the criminal is on the family tree related t the ruling family, businesses and organisations are ripe with corruption, we have no obvious centres for healthcare for the common people, and the less said about literacy, the better.” He sighed. “While it is indeed not a warrior’s job to compute mathematical marvels, it should be within his capability to perform simple arithmetic and know basic science – a stupid man is a dead man, and that is why, even after so many years, our society stands where we stood then.”

“So, what do you propose, then?” Ravin asked, brow furrowed. “That we change who we are?”

“We need to rebuild ourselves as a society.” Harry began. “Establishing training centres and school houses, buildings dedicated to improving the knowledge our populace owns. Building hospitals – centres that give out healthcare. We will acquire the territory of the other six holds and build cities that cross our metaphorical borders, uniting us beyond the point of breakage.”

“That sounds brilliant and all,” Tyrion spoke, and in that one interruption earned the ire of the new Queen Regent. “but even with all the coin in the treasury, we do not have enough to commission so many new buildings.”

“Which is why we will be taking another sum from the Iron Bank in Braavos.” Harry replied. “Given that we repaid them all they were owed, albeit a bit late, they are willing to allow us the amount we would require.”

“There has to be a catch, of course.” Stannis said. “Their representatives were far from pleased the previous time. We were only saved a major embarrassment given your timely entrance.”

Ignoring the suspicious look that the man sent him, Harry cheerfully beamed. “Given the number of secrets we possess on each of their board members and given the fact that we know where they keep their money and how, we’re actually getting the money with no stipulation to return it, only a … request to do so.”

“Some secrets they seem.” Tyrion muttered, eyes wide. “Well, go on, spill!”

“A secret does not remain a secret if more than two people know, Uncle.”

“Then that means you… the last time… even then...?” Renly muttered. “How long have you been saving us from the shadows?!”

“Far longer than I would care to admit.” Harry shrugged. “I swore an oath that I would raise Westeros to be the jewel of this planet. I do not swear oaths I am not prepared to do _anything_ to fulfil.”

He gazed at each of them with so strong a conviction in his eyes that he was sure they actually began to respect him a little. Well, his conviction and the little bit of magic he sent their way.

“I have drawn up plans for the new cities.” Harry spoke, and walked around the table, handing each a perfect copy of the scroll from a bag next to the feet of his new chair. “I only give this to you in full confidence that you would guard them with your lives. I would ask you to peruse them at your leisure, and that we meet back next week to discuss any issues you may spot.”

He then walked back to his seat and pulled out another set of scrolls. “The families of the North, the Westerlands, and the Principality of Dorne have already agreed and allied with our cause. Each of them will be sending in representatives to us within the next few days, who will stay for roughly one month in order to discuss finer points and then depart.”

“Dorne? The Martells agreed?” Stannis asked, surprised. “Truly?”

“Prince Oberyn and I share correspondence often.” Harry nodded, with a light not-obviously-faked blush. “I have been discussing my plans for Westeros with him for a very long time. I assure you, they have agreed.”

“The Reach will listen to your cause as well.” Renly said, eyeing the map laid out in front of him with intrigue. “I have close ties with the Tyrells – they will at least send in a representative to hear you out.”

“The Stormlands stand behind you.” Stannis said, his gaze locking with Harry’s own. “If what you said about the Iron Bank of Braavos is true.”

“That leaves the Vale and the Riverlands.” Tyrion mused.

“Lord Stark has agreed to send his wife, Lady Caetlyn Stark to reason with the Tullys.” Harry informed them. “And as for the Arynns, the same has taken to call and will attempt a sit-down. If that does not come to pass, or goes south in any manner, we will send an envoy to sit with them, unless anyone of you boasts connections to them I have been unable to find out.”

There was an awkward minute of silence where everyone else exchanged a few uneasy glances, save for Herenn, Cersei and Joffrey. It was in that moment that the people present truly realized that to the holder of the title of Master of Whispers, whose seat was far more effective since Harry came into power, their secrets were laid bare.

“That sorts that out.” Harry smiled. “This meeting, whether or not they agree to be inducted into an empire, will be held every six months to discuss grievances between the seven holds. Frankly, I’m surprised something like that doesn’t exist, because otherwise Gregor Clegane would be dead and the Martells would have done nothing short of pledging their life to the crown.” He said icily. “I have no idea what the lot of you were thinking letting that monster roam free, but I cannot change the past.” Yet.

“So that is the price for their cooperation into our schemes, is it?” Stannis asked with his eyes narrowed.

“Think of it as simply dispensing justice after a prolonged period of time.” He calmly spoke. “The butchering of children and women… given the right incentive, what is to stop that monster from turning on us? And I hear that house Clegane would be better off without him. Sandor is the far more compassionate and… human… brother of the two.”

Seeing that there were no complaints to that, Harry let the silence linger for a few moments before he spoke.

“The next thing on our agenda is our current cities.” Harry iterated, withdrawing another scroll from somewhere and rolling it on the table so it unfurled. “As our medicine and education grow in quality, our population will inevitably grow. We need better cities to be able to handle the influx of all of those people.” He gestured towards the blueprint of a ten-storey building. “Multi-level buildings will allow us to house more families and individuals, while at the same time prevent us from encroaching on the environment around us. I have drawn up plans for a stable multi-storey building, which I aim to complete outside of our city, should the worst happen. With your permission, I shall begin as soon as possible – it will allow us to provide a model for the visiting royalty as well, should they choose to listen to our expansion ideas.”

“Is this really possible?” Tyrion asked, sceptic. “And building this monstrosity within a month…?”

“Leave the allocation of resources and manpower to me.” He waved him off. After all, with just a wave of his wand, he could conjure ten of these, but it would be better to give those around him a moment to adjust. “The coin, however, I will be submitting a full account for to you. While I will begin immediately to save as much time as possible, the money will need to come from the treasury since my funds are currently diverted elsewhere.”

“If this… building… does come to fruition and proves reliable,” Stannis says, eyeing the blueprint with avid curiosity, “I do believe we will need to finance an organization solely focused on constructing them. We can’t have just anyone trying their hand out at it and risking lives while dooming money. Consider meeting me in private to establish such. It would be… prudent… to stop that source  of trouble before it becomes too much to handle.”

“True.” Harry nodded and turned to his net target. “Which brings us to you.”

“Me?” Renly asked, eyebrows arched.

“With a rise in population, we can expect a rise in crime, should the availability of jobs be lacking and food insufficient.” He said with an air of obviousness. “Thus, you need to draft more of the finer laws, perhaps in a single compendium for ease of access. A copy of this will be placed at every public centre – such as the new hospitals or marketplaces or the like – and the guards at both the gates to the city will need to announce to all who enter that they are now held accountable according to the laws you have sanctioned. The finer details will be left to you, but we all would appreciate a copy of said book to familiarize ourselves with it.”

“Acknowledged.” Renly said with a soft smile on his face. “I’ll have it in front of you next week.”

“Take longer, you have a month.” Harry advised, not unkindly. “You will have to cover everything from petty theft to treason while overseeing the construction of a specially created and secret building to the outskirts of the city to house criminals after the Watch is satisfied with the number of their recruits.” He shook his head. “Honestly – holding criminals in the same area as the royal family? A single mistake could spell only ill for us. I will see every avenue that leads to harm for my family destroyed.”

“So many changes… dear nephew, I do hope you know what you’re doing.” Tyrion mused, eyeing Harry with a contemplative look. “A single misstep, as you only just so rightly said, could wreak havoc on us all.”

“Everything he does he does for the good of the Seven Kingdoms.” Cersei snapped, glaring openly Tyrion now. “I have personally gone through all of his plans before this meeting, as has Lord Stark, and we both have laid down our vote of confidence on this, and on his future endeavours. Your opinion as Master of Coin _only_ means little.”

Ravin cleared his throat after an awkward pause. “Do the plans for the city deviate much from what we already live in?”

“Not truly.” Harry shook his head, “The main issue that could possibly plague a city as large as ours is organization – if King’s Landing is to truly be a jewel in all of the Seven Kingdoms, it will soon attract attention from both within and outside our borders.” Harry spoke. “We proved fortunate when we discovered that the occupants of the lands beyond the Iron Islands are tribal. What if we were to face a society more advanced than ours?” Although he truly doubted anyone on Terra could be as advanced as what he was planning to make the Seven Kingdoms into, he always did account for any possibility. “We need to be able to show them up in the splendour of the capital city, at least.”

“That… is a disturbing implication.” Cersei admitted although she showed no outward sign of discomfort. “In just a few years you have changed the way life goes on in Westeros. If even single nation beyond the known world possesses contraptions beyond our capability…”

Everyone at the table grew the tiniest bit pale at that.

“Which is why I wish to push our nations as far as they can go. Westeros and Essos may be equal to each other in terms of advancements, but one day, we may see nations that aren’t as plebeian as ours.” He said. “Then what? We would be a plaything in their hands – they may take us as slaves or servants once they conquered us and we’d be unable to rebel against them. No, it is best we consolidate our own safety before we press out into Terra.”

The general sentiment laid in the agreement, unvoiced, but still strong.

“The next piece, and arguably,” he says, tone laced with frustration as he shoots a sideways glance at his mother, “the most important, is dealing with the various ‘factions’ in the city.”

“‘Factions’?” Ravin asks, single eyebrow arched.

“The Alchemists Guild, the City Watch, and the Army.” The Queen says plainly and gives Barristan a polite nod of the head. “Given that the KingsGuard has never once failed in its duties, I see no reason to bring them to task.”

The man just gave the boy a sour look, for he was smart enough to note the threat underneath her words. “Firstly, let us discuss the City Watch.” He began anyway. “Since your Hand has the KingsGuard patrolling the city to keep up appearances, we long since have switched over a majority of the agreeable men from the former to the latter.”

“Exactly.” Harry agreed. “The watch is little more than a skeleton organization now, so I saw we be done with it and simply disband. The remaining recruits can join the KingsGuard or the Army if they so wish.”

“I would recommend neither.” Stannis said, expression far away. “King’s Landing is set to grow, is it not? Not many men, even from the City Watch, would wish to swear off families and titles, and we will need a large force for peace-keeping.”

“How about a compromise, then?” Barristan interrupted, eyeing the proceedings warily. “A subdivision within the Army that guards the city? We can transfer those who tire of their duties as KingsGuard back to the Army, the assigned tutors notwithstanding. The KingsGuard can return to being a small, _manageable_ , show-force, and the City-Watch gets a slew of fresh faces to allow the city to never be quite used to those who guard them. Rotation duties.” He added the last bit to wipe away the few doubts he could see on their faces.

“Interesting.” Cersei thought out loud. “Interesting indeed. Are we agreed upon this course of action?”

“It does seem better than what I had in mind.” Harry allowed. Inwardly, he was chastising himself for not thinking of it. “It shall be done. Next, let us discuss the Army.”

“I don’t see what is there to discuss.” Renly states while visibly confused. “Have we not done as much as we could? They are tutored by the finest n the KingsGuard, they have been given better accommodations along the city walls, they dine on better food than they used to, and are… well entertained, now that they have permission to be.” He said the last with a blush.

“This doesn’t actually have to deal with the army.” Harry says, tilting his head in thought. “This more has to do with new additions to it.”

“I will speak plainly.” Cersei said. “Although this matter will be brought to the Grand Gathering in a month’s time, I thought it best to release the idea to you, so it will take root, as no doubt word will make way of our monumental talks today to all corners of the known world.” Cersei said, giving them all a stern look. “I have asked Herenn not to impede the spread of information, solely because all that has been discussed here should, before long, reach everyone, be they commoner or royalty. In fact, Hadrian and I briefly discussed holding this meeting of the Small Council publicly in the courtroom, but decided that it there are some finer points best left omitted and that we would trust in your discretion.”

“There is something of even greater importance than what we have discussed so far?” Tyrion dryly asks, and Harry sighs when his mother shoots him a glare.

“When our empire comes together and marches forward, we will march against the unknown.” She said, without smoothing her words. “We will be needed to have a reliable army, of great number and skill. Thankfully, the skill part is being taken care of already.” She said, eyeing Barristan Selmy with an expressionless gaze. “However, the number part of the equation is still lacking. The KingsBlade,” she said, raising her hand to forestall any argument, “will not be idle, I assure you, but they will be occupied elsewhere. We, that is to say – Hadrian, Lord Stark, and I – discussed the matter at length, and have managed to come up with a solution – although the latter was hesitant, given he does not think we should be conquering any foreign lands for a long time yet. Regardless, we have decided that all the Vassal Houses of the Seven Kingdoms will grant the Imperial Army their men and capable women, in order to swell our ranks.”

“Unacceptable.” Stannis said, not in a tone of protest, but as if it were a fact. “The others will not be agreeable to this suggestion. It would spell revolt-”

“Trust me, Lord Baratheon,” Harry smiles, “it is only until the first rebellion is squashed that our plans lie undetermined. Once all such sentiments are crushed, they will … see the error of their ways. Houses Lannister and Martell have already agreed to this stipulation, and this was after a relatively free vote from the heads of all their families.”

“This is madness!” Barristan said, standing in indignation and slamming his hand on the desk. “You wish to incite a Civil War when you dream of conquering the world! What sort of thinking-“

He fell silent when he felt a blade against his throat. Herenn stood behind him, casually holding a dagger backwards and head bowed. “Do not take that tone with the Queen or her Hand.”

The room fell to pin-drop silent. No one even saw her move.

“What… what have you done to her?” Tyrion asked, eyes darting between the chair Herenn occupied and herself, where she stood. “That was too fast for my eye to catch – it’s not humanly possible.”

“You will find, uncle,” Harry drawled, dusting imaginary dust from his coat, “that I never make empty promises. I once told you lot they would be able to steal in plain sight and kill without getting caught – that was no jest in high spirit. If ordered, the KingsBlade can literally steal the clothing off your body and you would not notice.”

“Why do you need an army at all with them at your beck and call?” Stannis asked, eyeing Herenn contemplatively – the man was visibly shaken. “You have a force so skilled, and yet-”

“As I said, the KingsBlade will be busy elsewhere.” Cersei said, although she too looked the slightest bit surprised. “However, they will not be suppressing the rebellion, or be involved at all. Hadrian has assured me that he will be enough on his own.”

“Forgive me, your Majesty, but I believe I misheard you.” Ravin said, eyeing Harry warily. “Will his grace really be the only one facing the armies of those that would rise against your edicts?”

“I taught the KingsBlade,” Harry said, smirking, “that is true. But I did not teach them all I know.” He said, and let that statement hang in the air for a few moments. “Let him be, Herenn. He will be accommodating for the rest of the meeting. Won’t you, Ser Selmy?”

Herenn sheathed her blade and took her seat while Barristan just stared at Harry. “If you did not teach them all you know, what are you capable of, your grace?”

Harry just levelled him a sly grin. “Now that would be telling, Ser.” He gestured to the man’s chair. “Retake your seat, if you would. We have some other matters to discuss – the Alchemist’s Guild.”

As the elderly warrior took his seat, there was some shifting amongst the other occupants of the table.

“As far as I know,” Harry spoke, looking sideways at his mother, “the guild is only useful as a supplier of Wildfyre.”

“We have commissioned several barrels of it in the past.” Stannis murmured.

Tyrion coughed into his hand. “Do not forget, nephew, that the Targaryens were formidable even without their dragons only because of Wildfyre. It is energy incarnate.”

“And I can mix it at the drop of a hat.” Harry shrugged. “I have the recipe in my head, uncle, and so I think the guild is best destroyed, the members killed, and their records burned to the ground.”

The chamber was once again doused in silence.

“Lord Baratheon,” Ravin began, eyes wide, “are you saying that-“

“Herenn.” Harry snapped. “How many barrels of Wildfyre do we have stored in King’s Attic?”

“Nine thousand, eight hundred, and forty-two.” She replied, unfazed. “We have lowered production to only twenty per day in order to free up resources for other tasks.”

“If that is true,” Cersei spoke, tone disallowing, “then the Guild is only a loose end to be tied up.”

“But-“

“Silence, Selmy.” Stannis interrupts. “That so-called ‘guild’ has been allowed to continue long past when it was useful. The Hand is right in his decision if he truly possesses the recipe.”

The meeting after that proceeded with little excitement. Mostly because they all were effectively rattled by the show put up by Herenn. Besides, the main parts of the meeting were already over and done with, all that remained were the scraps. Soon enough, the lot of them went on their way. Renly lingered for a while, looking as if he meant to approach Harry, but thought better of it when Cersei offered her son her hand and made away with him.

They were barely out of the corridor before she spoke, tone intrigued. “I had no idea your training was that… effective. I didn’t even realize when she moved.”

“Speed like that cannot be gained and maintained without effective training.” Harry told her in turn and smiled. “Besides, it was fun to see all their reactions. It was as if they had gazed upon a ghost.”

“I almost believed it myself.” Cersei admitted, turning to look upon her son. “I doubted it before, but I know it now – you hide something of grave importance.”

“Oh?” he trailed, turning to look at her as well. “And what do you think that is?”

She hummed in thought before she spoke. “You think up extraordinary things and absorb knowledge faster than anyone could ever believe. You create contraptions we long thought impossible. You’ve even captured energy from the clouds! You near your eighteenth name-day but still appear as if you are going to celebrate your fourteenth. Sometimes, I feel that you are from another world entirely!”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk t how accurate her last statement was. “Nothing so outlandish, I assure you. However, I am going to have to hold my tongue until the time is right – can you trust me, mother?”

She stopped then and looked at him with a loaded gaze, which he unflinchingly returned. She released his hand and turned him to face her fully. “I know how much you value me, and so I make you do this – do you swear upon me that whatever it is, it won’t bring you harm?”

“I swear.” He responded just as seriously, expression softening when he noted how she relaxed after he did. “Now, my Queen, I believe it is best you got some time to relax. Allow me to escort you to your office.”

“A queen’s work is never done.” She theatrically sighs, then swoons in a similar manner. “I believe I shall be far too old by the time I’m done with all the paperwork-”

“Mother, you are being overdramatic again.” Harry rolls his eyes, then takes her hand a tad insistently. “Let us away. I really do need to begin construction on the building outside of town, too.”

“I don’t like that you’ll be speaking with Stannis alone.” She frowns, then looks heavenward as if for assistance with a sigh. “Oh, but I forget, you were once the Master of Whispers, and now are the Hand…”

“In service to you, my Queen.” He chided. “And then to Joffrey, in time.”

“Ah yes. To Joffrey.” She said, then frowned. “Have you noticed anything odd about him? I can’t put a finger on it-”

“He’s just lost his father, mother.” He reminded her, examining the floor with interest. “It is only natural that he shows some signs of distress. Bottling grief up is bad for the soul, I hear; I’d rather he act out than not.”

“Forgive my words but,” she paused, inconspicuously casting her gaze on both sides of the corridor they walked, “they were never very close. Or interacted much at all.”

“Joffrey idolised Robert, mother.” He said, ignoring the flash of her eyes to his as he uttered the dead man’s name. “In part, I will admit, it is due to my own meddling. I always told him he will one day be king, and it is only natural to look to someone whose position you will one day be in for inspiration. I’m also certain his tutors also brought the man up in many comparisons as to what he should be. They may not have spoken much, or spent much time together, but… he accepted the man as his true idol a long, long time ago.”

“I know now, what always bothered me.” She said and averted her gaze to look through the ornately-stained glass windows. “You never referred to Robert as ‘father’ past your fifteenth name-day. There were always signs – subtle before but glaring now that I know the story.”

“Mother… I am sorry for the pain I have brought you.” Harry said, sincerely and wholly. He never wanted to cause her pain, ever. Now that his actions had caught up to him, it seemed that there was much he had not thought about.

“It is not your fault.” She said simply, but he was well-versed in his mother’s mannerisms to know the smile she wore was forced and not at all genuine. “The tapestry of our fate is not woven by our hands, after all. I only wish… things were not as they were now. But if wishes were to come true on one’s whim…”

Supposing she needed a break from the reminder that she finally had everything she ever wanted, and he ruined it, he gently withdrew his hand and took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going to commence construction on the building. Have a pleasant day.”

He found it nearly heart-wrenching that his mother did not respond, but did smile and nod. However, rather than letting anything show, he simply bowed and swept out of the hallway.

“It has only just occurred to me that you plan to see our father’s name run through the mud.” Joffrey flippantly said, standing from where he leaned against the wall, out of sight, possibly waiting for Harry himself. “I cannot help but wonder why.”

Sensing an incoming storm, Harry swiftly cast strong silencing and notice-me-not wards around them. “It simply is convenient, Joffrey, don’t get riled up over it. Should you not be in tutelage right now?”

He found himself only smirking as he blocked a blast of red lightning with a translucent emerald shield. He was right it seemed because Joffrey was visibly furious. “Whatever happened to ‘family above all’, brother?”

“Don’t question me.” Harry calmly spoke. “Remember this, Joffrey – whatever I do, I do for the good of Terra. The Terran Empire needs a figurehead to rally behind – a beacon of hope for the downed, if you will. The beacon will only be more appealing if it had a tragic backstory.”

“Lies!” Joffrey snarled, and six bone-breaker curses launched from around his person. They were still unable to even crack the shield – as both knew would be the outcome. “I have stayed at your side the longest out of any of your lackeys! I know you, and I also know when you lie.”

Harry’s heart lurched for a second, but he blinked hard and slammed his mental shields down on any and all emotion. “Make of it what you will, Joffrey. Now stand aside.”

“I need answers, Hadrian.” Joffrey said in turn. “We have not spoken about this as we should have-“

With an audible snarl, Harry flung his hand outwards. Joffrey found himself bodily struck with an invisible force and then pinned against the wall. Several wickedly sharp swords condensed out of thin air and pointed their tips at him.

“What happened between Robert and me is our story to know.” He grits out, barely suppressing the anger that seemed so… potent. “You are in no position to demand answers from me, boy. You are neither stronger than me, nor do you have any hold over me. Back. Off.”

The swords inched a bit closer until the defiant glint vanished from Joffrey’s eyes; the fury remained.

They vanished in a show of burning hot embers. “Remember your place.” Harry bit out. “It was I who raised you as a sorcerer. It was I who gave you the gift of magic, Joffrey! The next time you use it against me, even to goad answers out of me, I will see it cut from you.”

Joffrey did not reply but did glare at him hatefully. He also managed to spot some pain…? Good.

“Focus on your studies as the King-to-be and stay out of matters that do not involve you.” Harry turned, gathering his magic back in a smooth wave. “Do not question me again.” He said simply and walked out. He did not look back, or else he would have seen the expression on Joffrey’s face and known that he was uncharacteristically devastated from the encounter.

It was only a few paces out of that particular hallway that Harry slumped against the wall and put his head in his hands. “What have I done?” he quietly whispered to himself.

Joffrey wasn’t someone he liked as much as his mother, but he came next in the list of people he loved. The boy was completely messed up, sure, but he was _his brother_. He was never to treat him this way…

Clutching his head, he groaned. He wasn’t sure what was happening anymore, but there was something very wrong in the way things were unfolding. There was _something_ he was overlooking…

“Harry?”

He mentally sighed, expecting this from the way said person was acting earlier and turned around to face Renly Baratheon. He internally winced when he caught the expression on the other’s face… great… he was going to have to play along now. Strange how pretending tired him so much now, when it came to him as easy as breathing only a few days ago…

“Hello, Renly.” He greeted plainly, a slight smile plastered on his face. “How can I help you?”

The other simply gazed at him intently for a few seconds, before taking his hand and swiftly walking through the near-empty hallways, eventually bringing them both to the office of the Master of Law in the castle. Harry almost absently cast the spells required for privacy as the door was closed, and he found himself the subject of the intense stare again.

It wasn't often that Harry was caught off guard. It was, however, often enough that men caught his fancy that he was not completely blindsided when Renly pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry." He said sincerely, and it served only to further confuse Harry. "Three years... god... I never even knew... I never even thought!"

Harry awkwardly reached up to pat the man on the back. "It's okay... I'm okay. I got used to it pretty soon."

He withdrew from the hug and eyed him seriously, with absolutely no traces of humour on his face. It made Harry think he would be a good king, someday - if he ever let it get to that point. "Why do you lie to me, Harry?"

He swallowed then, and this was not faked, simply at the amount of gravity that was in this man's eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's never easy." He said simply and tenderly caressed his cheek. "I don't know what you have been through, but I have... acquaintances... who know it's never easy."

And it really wasn't easy.

What was Robert's fault, truly? That he loved his wife and children? That he craved some relief from a life of struggles? Of course, it was wrong to bed his child, but here in this world, the rules Harry knew were flipped on their head and made patsy of. So why did the man have to die?

That's brought him up short.

Did he... miss Robert...?

He had involuntarily taken a quick inhale, which alerted Renly to at least a fraction of his distress. "Bottling things inside your heart is never good, Harry."

And the answer to his problems smacked him right in the face.

His Occlumency barriers.

Hadn't he known what would happen if he tried to suppress his primal emotions or any at all? He had berated himself for doing so in his past life once and never did it again simply because he razed the entirety of Asia to the ground in one of his fits of anger.

How could he possibly have made this mistake?

If he would have had all his faculties, things may not have gotten so out of hand. He would still be Lord of Whispers and his mother would just be wife to the King. His brother wouldn't hate him and...

Robert would have been alive.

Absently noting that Renly seemed to be waiting for him to 'let go', or so to put it. He took a deep breath to prepare himself...

And dropped his barriers.

He fell to his knees in pure emotional agony, and tears began to pour from his just-dry eyes. He cried and screamed to high heavens, and Inwardly was thankful he had placed silencing charms on the room as soon as he entered it.

Through it all, Renly only held him and let him weep. Even though his doublet was soon stained with tears and snot, he simply refused to let Harry go. It even reached a point that the younger beat on his chest and cried so hard his eardrums ought to have popped, but he held on like a good man and let him vent out his frustrations.

What right did he have to have such a good friend?

Abruptly the tears stopped, and Harry snuffled until his nose was clear.

"Would you like some water?" Renly asked, and Harry looked up at him to see that his own eyes were wet - ah, sympathy tears.

"I-" Harry tried but had to clear his throat to speak. "I'm fine, Ren. Thank you."

Said man simply pulled his head back to his chest and the two sat there for a while, on the ground, just... basking In each other's company.

It was maybe seconds, or minutes, or hours, but the silence finally broke some time later.

"Do you feel better?" The older of the two asked, carding hours is is fingers though platinum blond hair.

Was he better?

People deal with grief differently. Some people cry and let it all out in order to lighten the weight on their heart. Some people break things or shoot things or make things explode. Some people just Bury It deep down, like Harry had been unknowingly doing these days, and never thought to centre themselves and acknowledge It. - however, this often did more harm than good because not only did It eventually cloud one's mind layer by layer, it would emerge when it did with a vengeance.

Harry, when he was not subconsciously repressing, had one of the more common ways of coping with grief.

He looked up into Renly's face and just for the tiniest second, he saw Robert there. Then he remembered that Robert would be roughly demanding he open up himself and let it out already, and he wanted to cry and shout all over again.

He opted to redirect that energy.

He reached up to grasp his uncle's face and pulled him down for a deep kiss.

At almost the stroke of midnight, they finally fell next to each other, both feeling well in place. Almost instinctively, Harry lay his head against Renly's chest and grasped the other's hand, intertwining the fingers with a near-childish zeal.

It looked like Renly was about to say something, so Harry swiftly straddled him and lay a finger on his mouth, shushing gently. "We don't have to talk." He whispered, slowly running his finger lower and lower. "Words have no place between us, today."

Renly closed his lips and looked at Harry. Suddenly, the other felt as if he were under a microscope. It wasn't an alien feeling, but after just having his barriers emptied and his mind clear, he wasn't looking forward to pretending again.

So he just sighed and removed his finger, running the left set through his hair Instead. "Did I disappoint?"

The other's eyes widened. "No! No, Harry, not at all! It's just..."

"Things don't have to change." Harry whispered, eyes closing early of their own accord. "Loras doesn't need to know, and it's not like we can parade what we all really in front of the public. We'll be fine if we just forget-"

It was he, this time, who found a finger on his lips. "Hush. Why won't you let me speak?"

"I'm afraid, Renly." Harry admitted, gulping. "I've always been afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of heartache... afraid of pain... I don't want to hurt. It's why I've grown to be such admitted good manipulator - it's so that I won't ever have to hurt again, and no one will have to hurt like me if I can help it."

Renly's already warm gaze softened considerably as he adjusted himself, so his back laid against the headboard of his bed and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. "It's human nature to want not to hurt. It's not something to feel guilty of."

"Not the way I do it." Harry said simply and shook his head. "Gods, Renly, what have I done? What have _we_ done just now…?"

"Something that I've wanted to do for a very, very long time." He admitted and nipped at Harry's ear. “I was, and perhaps will always be attracted to you, Harry. You’re just too perfect not to be.”

"True." Harry breathlessly chuckled, and he could feel Renly flush. "You're not exactly subtle about your intentions."

"Also true." Renly granted, and he did something with his tongue that sent shivers through Harry's body. "This was one of the best days of my entire life, I’ll have you know."

Hearing that, Harry felt like laughing. He had given Robert many good days of his life too. "I am glad to be of service."

A few moments of charged silence lay itself upon the two, and Harry absently wondered if Renly was falling asleep, given the speed of his fingers, but eventually, it was the latter who broke the silence. “Do you remember that time when I took you to the Kingswood? The time when we hunted that deer together?”

Harry didn’t have to think long to remember the incident. “Do you mean that time when we had to climb that tree to get away from a bear and had to be stuck in it for almost the entire morning until it finally left?”

“Yes.” He said, looking into his eyes. “Only seldom do things captivate me. The only reason I became Master of Law was that nothing else much garnered my interest, but Stannis maintained that, as Robert’s younger brother, I should have some part in the Small Council.” He admitted. Laying his head back against the headboard, he let a hand caress Harry’s cheek. “My mind was too consumed by thoughts of you. Did you know I once asked one of my tutors whether or not I could marry you when we both were old enough?”

“Did you really?” Harry laughed loud and true, not having to fake it. It was… liberating, to say the least. “And what was the answer you received?”

“At first he thought I was jesting.” Renly chuckled. “He politely tried to steer me towards dames… but when he learned I was serious after I persisted for the longest time, he sat me down and spoke to me of the Sept and the … the general attitude towards relationships such as ours.”

Harry’s eyes grew hard. “We will bring the Sept to heel, Renly. Love is love – gender should not even be part of the equation.”

“Be careful, in whatever you do.” The older spoke sincerely, letting his hold tighten the tiniest bit. “The Sept is one of the most powerful bodies – faith notwithstanding – in Westeros. I don’t know how they grew into such a presence from a simple cult since aeons ago, but they have maintained their position since. Do not underestimate them.”

“They lost their power with the rise of the Targaryens.” Harry reminded him. “The Faith Militant was even crushed if you’ll remember correctly. Most of their presence in our culture now is pure façade. And… I will see it vanished entirely. If only for Loras and you. Then you may love freely, without fear of persecution.”

“How noble of you.” Renly drily commented.

Harry simply smirked. “If we happen to completely discredit them and, in its place, raise a new religious body that would be far easier to control, well, that’s just a coincidence, is it not?”

“How devious. And here I was hoping you were still the innocent little child I grew to care for.” Renly sighed theatrically.

“Part of growing up is losing your innocence… in more ways than one.” Harry said, resolutely not looking at Renly. “Sometimes… it’s just not possible to return to seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses once you have. It’s why I protect Myrcella the best I can – I don’t want her to lose her innocence as I did.”

"You should join us." Renly said, and when Harry tilted back to look at him he was flushed beyond scarlet. "Loras and me, I mean. You should join us and... spend your time with us..."

"Is this the polite gentlemanly way of asking me to a threesome, I wonder?" Harry chuckled. "Let's see what we can do with that, hmmm?"

"Tease." Renly grumbled, but then his expression shifted to an apologetic one. "I'm sorry we can't be something more, Harry, but Loras is everything I need right now. He ... He doesn't deserve... "

"No, you're right." Harry nodded, though Inwardly he expected something of the sort. Renly and Loras were so adorable one would think they were meant to be together... "I also have someone I'd rather not disappoint."

"Oh?" He asked and did something with his hands that made Harry moan. "Do tell."

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Harry admitted, shrugging. “Have you ever wondered if there is someone out there made perfectly for you? As if he or she were born to complement your every thought, whim, and action as if your heart was to them as is an open book?”

“Tales of a wishful heart.” Renly noted, eyes softening. “It is seldom so. In order to make a bond last, one must be prepared to lose and win equally.”

“Yes, but just picture it for a moment.” Harry insisted. “There would _be_ no losing or winning because the both of you want the same thing.”

“And you’re saying you have found this… mate?” he asked, sceptical.

Nodding absently, Harry turned to fiddle with the hem of the bedspread a bit. “Well, yes.”

A few moments passed this way, each deep in their own musings before Renly spoke. “Then I will have to congratulate you and insist that I meet this person whenever you bring him to the Red Keep.

“So you can, what, interrogate him or something of the sort?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Something of the sort.” The older agreed, smirking. “After all, I will need to ensure that the person who takes our little emerald away is capable, after all.”

"Hush." Harry said instead. "We will have time for as long as you want to talk, whenever. Tonight... let us enjoy the company we provide to each other and speak no more."

Renly's answer was to initiate a kiss.

It was only later, in the wee hours of the morning, that Harry relocated himself back to his workshop. Sighing softly to himself, he found his hands absently rubbing his shoulder as he walked to his desk.

To prevent a Robert situation from happening again, he had Obliviated Renly very thoroughly.

He had weighed the benefits and disadvantages and decided that he did not want to ruin what he and Loras had. Now that he himself, on some level at least, felt for Jon, there was just something wrong in breaking something so... innocent.

He really needed to get things into perspective. Robert was dead and gone. Now with his mind clear, restructuring his plans seemed to hold many merits.

For one, if he hastened things, he would get to see the no-doubt monumental change in this lifetime. Granted, that his identity and a wizard and the rituals he went through would give him an unnaturally long lifespan, but it was not Immortality.

For two, he still had no idea what the second half of the Seven-Faced God's words meant. The advice was cryptic enough that he couldn't scry it out and yet held enough information to help him on his path...? Curious, how words could be woven around each other so easily... so deceitfully...

He gazed out the window and at the fading moon contemplatively, wondering. Would the god lie to him to watch him squirm? Had Tyrion not said something along the lines...? Almost immediately his memory was engulfed with the image of an old wizard with half-moon spectacles and long, white manes that made his beard and hair. His rage rose, but he let it do so rather than force it down, only he channelled it into conscious thought rather than mindless rambling.

He had a lot of experience with being manipulated. If he knew one thing about it, it was to never believe that no one was knowingly benefitting from your actions at any point in time. The addition of magic only made it so that he would not even be aware of whether or not his actions were of his own volition, he knew. And if one factored in the fact that he was in smack-dab in the middle of a game between ruling families all lusting after power and glory…

He sighed and rolled his shoulders, smiling absently when they popped. Now was not the time to doubt, only act. It was only with actions that his doubts would clear themselves.

Activating the wards to full power (and locking and silencing the door for good measure), he set to work on righting the blunders he had made in his plan due to his mental imbalances – altering the dates on which he would successively release ‘inventions’, erasing the family map of the seven leading Houses and starting anew with what would benefit him, and then working on his plans for the nation itself.

Yes, it felt good to be back.


	7. Episode 7: The brightest lights do...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn brings hope, but also despair.
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 moons, 13 days.

It was in only a few minutes that Harry found himself outside the city walls and even the sparse little farmland that had found its home closer. A deep breath of the damp night air dd wonders for his agitation as he calmed down.

There had been so many mistakes in his plans.

In truth, the day he spent with Renly was more a godsend than a distraction. After he let himself go and returned to the monumental task of just thinking through what his plans had been so far, he was able to spot numerous discrepancies, slips, errors… whatever one wished to call them. Thankfully he had not started the factories on the production of the new batteries. He did, however, leave the plans for wire and light bulbs in his mother’s chambers. After all, what good is electricity caged with no use for it?

He drew out his wand and focused on the area in front of him. He tapped the ground at his feet, muttering something that would be inaudible to someone even standing right next to him. A rock that was present began to get swathed in runes and hovered a few meters off the ground.

He then sharply turned on his heel, and appeared exactly five hundred meters away, and repeated his action. Another displacement that had him at ninety degrees from the line followed, and then a last and final one to complete the square.

The so-called ‘art’ of warding was actually more of a science. You used a pre-determined language to perform certain actions in a marked area. The only magical part was the language and the means through which it acted upon its target – a ward-stone. Now, ward-stones weren’t so mystical and rare as everyone thought, either. Essentially, they could be selected from any rock that has been in the area-to-be-warded for a while. Doing so for previously enclosed spaces was easy – you required only a single ward-stone to tie the enchantments to, and it had to be somewhere in the center. The walls themselves would mark the boundary for the effects.

But open areas like the one Harry was going to use? Multiple ward-stones were required. In this case, four were placed to mark the boundary – always in a square or triangle, because no other shape worked at all; circles always over-balanced any sequence of stones and other shapes simply weren’t powerful enough to base the enchantments around. And one, the main, was laid in the center. Height from sea-level in comparison to other stones was not of importance – the only thing that mattered was the distance and angles they were placed at. In essence, a bird’s eye view should still give one a square with a stone somewhere in the middle.

He linked the four stones with a flourish of his wand and then displaced himself to the center of the marked square.

Kneeling down, he picked up a stone and began to wave his wand.

The reason why he was warding the area rather than just casting blanket spells was that he wasn’t sure he could come here every night to renew them, and it was best to ensure that such a mishap wouldn’t happen. A notice-me-not charm, a repelling hex, and an illusion layer – all three found themselves set up and configured for optimum performance. As an afterthought, he added an unbreakable charm to anything within the confines of the ward and a stasis charm but left them both deactivated until he was done with designing the building itself. Keying himself as the sole controller, he then banished the stone deep within the earth, but still in the center of the marked square.

“Let’s get to work, then, shall we?” he muttered, displacing himself to one corner of the square, he conjured the required material and set to work.

Unlike his original world, warfare here occurred far more often and viciously. Until he could set down his foot properly and ensure that such violence utterly ceased to be, he needed to construct buildings that would last. This meant a deep foundation, a strong material to work with, and as durable windows as possible. Given that he could simply cast unbreakable charms he normally wouldn’t be too concerned, but until his secret was out to the world, he thought it best to make it look as secure as possible.

With two floors of basement, the building that was completed looked… sturdy, for a lack of better word. The bulk of it was made of interwoven silicon carbide rods, the gaps of which were filled with a reinforced cement mix. The structure was then coated with cement to hide the rods from view completely. Individual rods were then merged together so they effectively formed one giant structure. The result? A dark greyish building that could take a lot of punishment. Palladium micro-alloy glass lined the windows. The only thing that remained was transfiguring the interiors and using the Dyneema fabric roll on his left for curtains.

However, realizing that he had taken far too long already and that it was approaching sunrise, he sent the roll to his pocket dimension and stretched fully. The strain of standing still and waving his arms around was taking a mental toll, so he decided to simply leave the rest for another day. So far, however, it wasn’t too bad for a few hours’ worth of work. A few color changing charms would take care of the ambiance. Space-expansion charms would take care of the roads in between, even though syncing it with the planet itself would be more draining as more and more space was added… best to do it all in one fell swoop.

Raising the dormant wards as well, he displaced himself back to his workshop to prepare to present himself for breakfast with his family… or what was left of it.

There was a letter on the table, however. He liked the idea of the primitive way of communication more than the other alternatives he could think of, however. There is only so much you can write in a letter, so you had to think and plan and fill it to the brim with the emotion you wish to convey. 

Hadrian fiddled with the cover of the envelope idly, eyeing the seal that sat so innocuously on the main table. A simple missive could make or break on this world. With the weight of the royal seal, his words could shatter stones and fell cities.

He felt positively giddy with the power.

He was only distracted when his bird (no doubt screened thoroughly from afar by Midas) flew through the air and alighted on his patiently outstretched arm.

"Hello, Hedwig." He smiled an absent smile as he scratched the bird's chest. "Enjoy your flight?"

He could swear the little black bird understood his every word. Honestly, besides her frightening intellect, nothing else much reminded him of the original Hedwig - it was like someone had requested god to create a bird complete opposite of her. The raven was obviously black but was flecked with white and lacked... mass. Where the first Hedwig reminded him of a ball of cuddly fluff (and boy he persevered through all the scratches until the bird finally relented), this one was... scrawny. It reminded him of himself more than Hedwig.

"What do you have for me there?" He murmured, examining the envelope the bird had no doubt left on the desk.

Seeing that his human had seen him and given him his dose of attention, Hedwig II took to the air and vanished into the light of dawn.

Harry, meanwhile, picked the letter up and turned it around. A smile lit his face instantly as he caught a familiar wax seal.

' _Dearest Hadrian_

_Did you honestly expect me to need an invitation to come to visit? It is a remarkable coincidence, however - Ellaria just mentioned you the other day. We will be there come the day-after-tomorrow’s eve, since we are far away from the city and, thus, any of your stations._

_I also have another matter to discuss with you while I am there. It is more of a personal nature than this... Landsmeet you have decided to hold, so please allow me your time. Even though I will be staying till the coronation, I know you'll wander off as soon as something shiny catches your fancy - and don't bother scoffing. We both know the truth._

_Love, O.M._

_\- Have you still kept the rings?_

Harry sighed as he stared at the letter. Now there was an enigma, this Oberyn Martell. The man's mind had been so amazing to delve into - it was when he entered that he remembered what a good heart entailed.

At least by his standards.

His eyes flickered down to both his ring fingers, upon which sat a gleaming silver band each, a pattern of suns embossed on one and spears on the other with clear detail. He fiddled with them as he walked to breakfast, eyes almost lighting up in fond memory. That night he spent with Oberyn and Ellaria; he was almost certain that he had changed a bit after it. The passion, the raw emotion – it was just electric, almost. Such passion in life had only been rivaled twice in his memory, with Viktor in his past life and Jon in this one. He assumed that there were some other circumstances because of which Jon and… whomever else he was destined for… were his soulmates instead of the Martell prince and his love. He was even certain his magic had reacted then…

Breakfast was… a strained affair. Joffrey simply took an apple and left the room the moment he entered.

“Something wrong?” Cersei asked, eyes flitting between the door that Joffrey left through and Harry’s form.

He weighed the situation and chose his answer carefully. “He… dislikes me.” He answered, with the proper inflection and expression to indicate sadness he did not want to show. Actually, he was pretty sure Joffrey hated him at this point. But like volcanoes, his brother’s anger raged violently and soon fell dormant, during which he would act much like a tsundere. Surely this was the same.

“I’m sure he doesn’t.” Cersei said kindly, offering him a wry smile. “Just get him his favorite bath salts from Yi Ti and he will adore you again.”

Harry offered an uncharacteristic shrug to cement the image of his ‘ailing’ in his mother’s eyes as he sat, serving himself a bowl of fruit and grasping a slice of bread.

“Was it not you just yesterday who was saying you would rather he act out than conceal his emotions?” his mother asked, but he did not look up to see her face. “He will calm down, in time.”

“I don’t think so.” He mumbled, staring at his food but not eating it. “I… everything is ruined. Because of me.”

The following silence was more telling to him than any heartfelt speech would be. So, his mother agreed with that statement… he did too, somewhere in his cold dead heart. All those years of meeting therapists and torturing the living daylights out of them for their insolence, and here he was, admitting he needed one to himself in a world without anything even resembling good healthcare. He wondered if he was forever doomed to realize his mistakes only after he was to commit them - while he enjoyed being Harry Potter, ruler of the world, even he himself knew that his rule was anything but pleasant for the others... of course, the reason why he suddenly started caring about the masses was up in the air - he used to be as fond of torture spells as Bella.

"The invitations to the Landsmeet have been written then?" Came her voice a few loaded minutes later, and he smiled almost in spite of himself. This was proof that his mother was trying to fight the negativity she felt for him. Good.

"Yes, my queen." He said, giving her a ‘forced’ playful bow. "Although I daresay the Martell representative will already be on his way."

"Oh, hush with the formalities. We're in a private setting." His mother chided him, then took a sip of her milk and stared at the table contemplatively. "The Martell representative is...?"

"Oberyn, the prince." He reminded her, handing her a scroll that listed the tasks she needed to complete for the day. "He will be arriving with his love, Ellaria, and possibly his... entourage."

Her eyebrow quirked at the emphasis he gave at the word. "Do their vassal families not trust them as the others no doubt will?"

"Oh no, he's quite popular amongst his people. I'm certain they'd lay down their lives for him. No, they won't be coming." He smirked. "Tell me, have you ever heard tell of the Sand Vipers?"

"I tend to keep away from all things Martell, son." She said, eyes flickering up to his pointedly.

"Ah. Yes. That." He eloquently said, shuffling awkwardly. "I understand the feuds-"

"-but father and Stannis have both agreed to let sleeping lions lie, yes, I know." She sighed. "I hope you know how much this means to me." 

"Oberyn is very amiable. I'm certain you'll find yourself charmed." He assured her. "Regardless, the Sand Vipers are comprised entirely of women - well-trained women - of a certain age group. You'll note they all share Martell features and are younger than the prince himself. You will be impressed."

His mother weighed his words as her mind wandered. She sighed as she rose from her chair and began to walk casually to the window. "Something there... oh. They're his bastards?"

"Yes." Harry sighed. "Honestly mother-"

"What? I say it as it is!" She shrugged. "You'll find that honesty is in short supply in Terra today."

"Our empire will hold no place for such filth." He said, tone growing purposely impassioned. "It will be what men dream of and Kings dread - a land of citizens equal in the eyes of the law. Corruption will be condemned enough that no one will dare partake in it."

She smiled then, turning to look at him. "You know, Hadrian, I've noticed something - you only speak passionately about things you care deeply for."

He quirked a brow but stayed silent. 

"The Terran Empire is your dream, so I understand it." She said, then her face grew a little slack. "What I don't understand, is why your tone takes that same impression when you speak of Oberyn Martell."

Harry's eyes shifted elsewhere, and he purposely fidgeted just the tiniest, right amount. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course, you don't." She sighed. "Listen to me. That… man… is dead and gone. You don’t need to belong to men and their whims now.”

“I belong to no one, mother.” He said, slacking his own face to show her how he felt about that line. The whole reason he wanted power was to never fall to anyone’s control again, not like he had once been a pawn to… “Kindly dissuade yourself of that notion. Oberyn, Ellaria, and I – what is among us will remain as it is.” Hmm, perhaps this conversation would do some good to soften his mother up for Jon.

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “The prince… and his whore?”

“Mother!” he hissed.

“At the same time?” she continued, much in the same tone.

Harry palmed his face, the blush that was present not entirely faked. “Honestly…”

“I… honestly don’t know how to react to that.” The woman admitted. “Is it like when men prefer multiple women to sate themselves?”

“This… is highly inappropriate!” he stammered out.

“Well, considering that anyone I could partake in with such activities is either dead or missing, I think I am allowed to live vicariously through my child.” She said, smirking.

“I… no!” Harry protested. “I think you’re meant to take care of Myrcella more than that!”

“She’s fast asleep.” Cersei waved him off. “Considering that you’re the one that brought this up-“

“Am not!”

“-it’s your fault.” She unabashedly finished. “Well? I’m waiting for an answer.” She said, crossing her arms and raising her nose in the air faux-imperiously.

“I sincerely hope you’re joking.” He said flatly.

“You will be pleased to know I am.” She said, not losing her smirk. “But it does give me several ideas. Catelyn seems to have aged beautifully, I daresay. And Lord Stark-“

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Harry moaned. “Is this retribution of a sort?”

“Of a sort.” She nodded. “But it is fun no longer. Regardless, Hadrian! You know I will accept you no matter what, but the Sept will-"

"Not be a problem for long, I assure you." He cut her smoothly. "I have plans, mother."

She looked at him for a moment before sighing. "Of course. You seem to have one for everything nowadays. Just… make it the least bloody. They are well-meaning, if misguided, idiots."

Harry rose and smiled. “Well, I don’t make promises I won’t even make an effort to keep.” He then bowed to her playfully before standing. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to ensure everything is prepared for the arrival of our fellow smaller rulers.”

She waved him off with a smile.

He hadn’t been joking. The presence of all the ruling families in one spot not only made room for possible lapses in security but also demanded more room for the accompanying people to spend their time. He leaped out of the window, using the side of its frame to move out of sight and displaced himself immediately to the highest point of the palace. He looked out over King’s Landing and smirked. He’d have to prepare the city, it seemed.

A simple gesture of his hands saw that he was surrounded with six people – Herenn, Olyvar, and his squad.

“We will be expanding now, just like we planned.” He said, cracking his knuckles. “Kindly do not forget the fading Notice-me-nots, alright?”

Harry himself set to weaving the required runes in the air in preparation for a heavier version of the Living Earth adjustment spell. It was not just five meters of a difference they were going to set in, after all. This endeavor was technically as easy as pie, but the magical cost behind it ensured that he’d be recuperating for at least three or so days if he forced himself to cast despite it.

He sighed as he went through the now-memorized motions of the spell. Maybe after this, he’d pay Sansa a visit.

As it turns out, it was very good he thought of it.

“Again.” He commanded, tone not unkind, but not forgiving either, as he examined the girl before him with narrowed eyes.

Sansa swallowed and took in a deep breath to compose herself. She pointed the wand at the rock in front of her, and confidently incanted, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

All the pomp resulted in a grand total of nothing.

He bit back a frustrated sigh, instead, he focused on feeling the connection between the girl and the wand – the connection was much like his own, which meant a perfect match. Then how was it possible that she couldn’t cast even a simple levitation spell?

“Hmm… perhaps a simpler one first?” he offered, more to himself than Sansa. “Try flicking your wand upwards and incanting ‘Lumos’. Remember to picture the outcome perfectly – your wand tip will be set alight.”

The girl nodded, and visibly gathered herself before she cleared her throat unnecessarily loudly and almost shouted, “Lumos!”

Still nothing.

A hidden gesture from Harry had a KingsBlade at his feet within a mini second. “Get me Midas. Tell him I will most certainly revoke his pancake privileges if he isn’t here within the span of a minute.” He said, a small smirk playing on his lips. The agent audibly gulped and nodded, vanishing in silence.

Harry turned to regard a teary-eyed Sana, and his expression melted a bit. He could understand it – after a while of being told you were some sort of magical prodigy if one couldn’t even set his or her wand-tip alight… he would have been frustrated too, were he in her shoes.

Thankfully, he was not. “Calm and compose yourself, Sansa. You can hardly expect to get it right on the first day.”

She turned confused and wet eyes on him. “Then why do you treat the situation as if it were a strange occurrence?” she asked, tilting her head to the side, much like he does when he is… oh, Merlin. She was picking up his quirks.

“I don’t notice anything.” He told her flatly, opting for full disclosure. “I am not an expert at sensing magical fluctuations, I will admit, but I am adept at it enough that I know whether or not any is being carried out. Not only are you failing to get any reaction at all from your wand, the sparks from when it claimed you notwithstanding, but there is also no shift in your own magical signature at all.”

This served to calm her down. Odd. Maybe she chose to set aside her worries and focus on his words to calm herself – a good choice. “What is supposed to happen, then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Harry waved his hand to conjure a bright see-through illusion of a sphere. It was filled nearly to capacity with some sort of ethereal fluid. “This is the physical representation of a witch or wizard. In actuality, no such ‘core’ exists, one has to go off feelings. Regardless, when one casts a spell a single reaction occurs, varying in intensity.” With a twitch of his finger, the fluid seemed to grow lighter in color, and a mist-like form dispersed from it in a pulse.

Her eyes lit up with understanding.

“What we do, essentially, is warping reality to our will.” He elaborated. “In order to do so, our energy must exit their containers – ourselves – and ‘touch’ our target, for a lack of better word. This pulse is what enables ‘sensors’ to pinpoint magical activity.” He then reset the illusion to what it was at first. “But this is what I think is happening with you.”

The fluid within grew brighter and visibly pulsed, but no magic emerged from its shell. Sansa looked away, to her wand, and frowned.

“The purpose of a wand is to act as a road.” He said, waving the illusion away. “It enables our magic to exit its meta-physical container and affect the real world. But yours doesn’t seem to be doing that, and I haven’t the foggiest why.”

The brief silence that followed was broken with the inaudible appearance of a single man, who looked like he’d been in the heart of a storm before he arrived. “I’m here, I’m here! Please don’t take away my pancakes!” he pleaded, and his nose nearly touched the ground when he bowed.

Sansa just stared at him.

“You will get used to him, in time.” Harry sighed. Merlin knows he himself took a while to build a resistance to Midas’ over-the-top behavior.

When he found him, Midas was little more than an alleyway escapade. He wasn’t affiliated with any brothels and was almost certainly afflicted with various diseases. When Harry followed him home, however, he saw that Midas – then known as Garett, was actually doing what he did to feed an overly large family of eleven kids, and a single, disabled, mother.

He offered him a chance to ensure the family had enough to be fed life-long, and made good on his promise, ensuring unswerving royalty from the teen even without any compulsions or potions – not that he skimped on them, mind you. However much he appreciated the boy, he still reeled from his personality, which reminded him too much of a bubbly Colin Creevey.

Ugh. Fanboys.

“Your pancakes are safe from my wrath.” Harry drily assured him. “I need you to examine Sansa and tell me if there is anything wrong with her.”

He looked understandably confused. “But, my lord, she has the most potential out of everyone we have ever encountered, excluding Prince Joffrey and yourself.”

“Then explain to me how her spells simply refuse to work.” He said, a tiny bit snappily, gesturing towards the now dazed-looking girl. “I think her magic simply isn’t emerging from her, but that would be impossible.”

“Unless there was a block on her.” Midas’ reminded him, but dutifully began to draw runes in the air regardless.

“If you weren’t aware, there is no magical besides us on this planet.” Harry reminded him.

“Us. The Alchemists. The Warlocks. The Blood-maegi.” Midas shrugged, now fully concentrating on his efforts. “I am not one to decide who it is, I’m not that good. But simply presuming that there is no possibility of anyone tampering with her ability. As you have noted, are the Starks not deeply entrenched with magic altogether?”

Harry turned pensive at that. The points Midas brought up was true, but the possibility was near-negligible.

“Besides, the feeling closely resembles what a block should feel like.” The sensor continued. “Her magic wants to work – there’s just… something stopping it.”

“I’m not going to take any chances.” Harry put his foot down. “Until we know exactly what’s wrong, I’m not going to try to force her magic out – that could kill her. And unfortunately, I’m not as good at necromancy as people believe me to be.” He added the last bit with a smirk.

Both Sansa and Midas shivered.

“Right.” The latter acquiesced.

“Please do not use Necromancy around me.” The former pleaded.

“We shall see.” The eldest Baratheon continued smirking. “So, until I manage to research your condition extensively, we’re going to keep focusing on physical conditioning. Arya can join in too if she so wants. She seems to be getting a tad too friendly with the local orphans.” He mused.

“Arya…” Sansa cursed under her breath. “She’s just… free spirited, Hadrian.”

“I know.” He blinked at her. Arya much reminded him of Daphne Greengrass, actually. Unlike most of the other witches he knew, the girl wanted to far exceed the mold set for her by her parents. The Greengrasses had a lineage of lawyers, and rather than be wed to some pureblood and be satisfied with the idyllic life a house-witch led, she wished to fight in the magical court herself. Different situations, but he supposed the comparisons were spot-on enough to allow for a parallel. Midas displaced himself immediately once his role was finished.

“Please don’t harm her.” Sana pointed out, more concisely.

He blinked at her again. “There is something I am clearly missing here. Why would I harm Arya?”

Sansa sighed. “Nothing. Allow me to change into more free-flowing clothes.” She said, eyeing her gown with a forlorn expression more suited to someone whose sweet-roll was just stolen. “I suspect I am going to need it.”

It was less than an hour later that Harry found himself surveying his troops. It turns out, that even with all the training she had been getting recently, Sansa had been just too idle to maintain an appropriate level of fitness for his line of work. He didn’t really want her to join the KingsBlade, but, until he could figure out what was wrong with her thoroughly, it is best not to waste time being idle. Putting her through pieces of the training program seemed merciful enough.

Now, however, he had a task to do.

He walked not before, but among them, stationed as they were in-formation - men and women who were once cutthroats, cheaters, scum, and criminals. Now... the beginnings of the Imperial Army. It was far too easy to gather them - some of those before him were Free-folk from beyond the wall, and he had no plans to stop kidnapping and brainwashing peoples from there. The customs of the Free-folk would mean their population would grow fast, were their conditions more favorable - it was due to this that he had no qualms in 'acquiring manpower', so to speak, and then clearing off their memory to serve in his own army. As a matter of fact, he believed that, were their uncivilized minds capable of rational thought, they would much like to join willingly. Unfortunately, he was forced to be quiet and pick off the smaller groups in order to facilitate a means of making it easier to take over when the opportunity arose. 

It also had the added benefit of giving him clues to exactly who were the 'wronged dead'. Not only was Necromancy actually in practice here, but the casters were capable of wiping off the unique magical signature left behind easily... The obvious conclusion that someone... or something... lived far into the unmapped northern arctic regions of the planet would have to be confirmed, eventually.

"Our guests must see the absolute best we have to offer, Ser Selmy." Harry said, eyeing the rigid people before him with a pleased gaze and bringing himself back to the present for now. "But I guess I cannot distinguish one from the other - your training lived up to their tale, I see."

"It wasn't easy, but it was worth it, your grace." The man grunted, following only a step or so behind. "These men fight as well as the bravest amongst the KingsGuard."

"'Harry', please. 'Your grace' pumps a bit too much air into my breeches for my liking." The younger said, finally reaching the end of the line and turning around to gaze at them fully. "There's a lot of good people here."

"A thousand, give or take." He agreed. "But this is excluding the men of the Vassal Houses."

"Remember the women, ser. They certainly aren't any less capable." Harry reminded him, turning to face him fully. "I see they are still in their training gear. I will have armor appropriate for an army forged and delivered within the week."

"For a thousand?" The elder asked, eyebrow arched. "All the smiths in King's Landing will not be able to accomplish that."

"You underestimate me still." Harry noted, turning to walk back towards the exit of the cavernous underground complex he had 'found' to be used. "Do you still see me unable to accomplish anything?"

The other man remained silent.

A soft brush of Legilimency told him what he had easily gleaned from the man's posture. "You disapprove of my plan for the Seven Kingdoms. That's alright - we are all entitled to our opinion, after all."

"Permission to speak freely?" 

"Denied." Harry almost smirked. "We've danced around this ever stupid milked once I first introduced the idea. You and I will never see eye to eye on it, now, will we? We've both almost exhausted our tongues trying to convince the other. So now, I tell you to remain at your station. Change is the only unchanging rule of life - if you cannot deal with it, perhaps life may one day soon wash its hands off you."

Selmy remained silent. Harry almost laughed at the pinched expression on his face, but they both knew that neither of the other would budge even the tiniest bit on the matter.

“Alight, Ser Selmy. Now that we have the minimum number of troops required, I want you to split them in half – create seven groups of guards out of the five hundred, with skills enough to balance each other out; a difference of a person or so doesn’t matter. These, as you will declare first-hand, will not see King’s Landing again anytime soon.” Harry spoke, emerging at last into the sunlight. The guards on either side of the entrance stood at attention as he passed, an action that pleased him the tiniest bit. “You will submit their names to me, grouped appropriately. Then you will contact Lord Stannis Baratheon, and offer to train his shipmen with the most dexterous of those amongst the KingsGuard.” 

Selmy gave him a stiff nod.

“Glad we had a chance to talk.” Harry beamed, patting the older – and taller, blast him – man’s back, and making his way towards the castle.

If everything went according to plan, the Terran Empire would be the most powerful military power in existence. The factories were cranking out ships by the dozens per two months, their soldiers were much better trained than before, and their city was much larger, cleaner, and technologically more advanced than anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, at least. Hmm… tonight, it seemed, would be an excellent time to integrate streetlamps and better-paved roads. Maybe cast overpowered repairing charms on the deteriorated infrastructure around town, too. That alone, in fact, would change the way it looked to an outsider who hadn’t been here in a while.

Oh, he was fully planning on shocking the various peoples sent in from all the holds for the Landsmeet. It was only through this factor that they would be able to generate enough interest in the empire for them to agree to the merger. Besides, most changes would be purely cosmetic – the main continent of Westeros would still be divided into seven districts, there would still be seven Chancellors, one for each district, to oversee law and order. The only true changes, however, could prove to be the most controversial after all.

He shook his head to draw himself out of his thoughts and displaced himself to his workshop after ensuring he was alone in order to work on the armor for the army.

As he conjured metal and wove it around, he wondered if he should offer the truth about Joffrey’s parentage to said brother in order to appease him. Were he to be in his shoes, would he be grateful or not that someone informed him the truth of a person he was mourning of as a father? How would he feel, in his past life, if someone were to tell him James Potter was not his father?

He scoffed derisively as he thought of James Potter. The man had lent to the process of him being born, ye, but he was not his father.

Call him selfish, but Harry wholeheartedly believed that his parents were complete and utter trash for birthing him during a time of turmoil in the world. He believed that if they really wished to participate in a war, it would have been best not to bring him into the world until it had well and fully passed. Why would any sane person give birth to a child when the world was barely a hair’s breadth from falling either way?

He would have been much happier born in another time. Not just him, but all those who were born in his generation and had to face the horror of losing family before even taking their first step or saying their first words.

Neville was an excellent example of this case. As was Luna.

As were so many others.

He set his hands down with a sigh and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Now was not the time to think of such things. If he lost himself in memories again…

He had no time to waste. There was a world out there to conquer, after all.

With a sigh, he set to work.

It was almost midnight by the time he deigned to take a break, and he wiped his brow, breathing a bit harshly. While creating a single set of armor and casting dupliction charm would have been more prudent, magical copies were notorious when it came to losing durability. No, better to create each set individually - it would also lend to the air of being hand-made. Although a small **_Confundus_** might also be helpful in that regard.

He cracked his knuckles and looked into the midnight outside, grinning tiredly. It seemed he would have to stress himself after all.

He displaced himself to the roof of King's Attic and clapped his hands to summon his minions, who appeared before him immediately.

"We have tonight." he said, looking intently at the only two he had chosen for the job - Herenn and Olyvar. "We are to create paved roads, set up the infrastructure for streetlamps that would require the bare minimum of manual labor to get working and repair the buildings. After this, Olyvar, you will be in charge of casting a blanket _**Confundus**_ over the city in order to convince the inhabitants that these changes slowly took place over time."

"My Lord, would it not be prudent for us to disperse such tasks over a large block of time?" Herenn asked although she did not rise from her kneeling position. "Even the strongest of suggestive spells might meet their match with an analytical mind. Furthermore, with all the guests we will be having for Prince Joffrey's wedding in a few weeks, will the spell on be overly taxed regardless...?"

Harry hummed. "Well, between choosing to believe that the changes appeared magically overnight, and believing that they occurred over... oh... one month or so, which do you think their minds will subconsciously choose to believe?" he asked, tilting his head. "The mind is a powerful place, my dear. Never forget.

His two disciples seemed to accept the answer, and the three went about their business. However, partly due to fatigue and partly to ease their concern, Harry allowed them to take an entire day to complete their tasks before allowing them to cast the blanket suggestive spell. 

Let it not be said he was hard on his people. He did wonder, however, when did he start to care for them at all...

 

***

 

It was in the evening the next day that Harry stood as still, the air around him drenched in anticipation. He had to admit, laying on the pretense that he was seriously interested in the Dornish prince was ... intriguing, to say the least. It had amused him the way his mother and even Sansa danced around the topic when he later told her to gauge her reaction. Odd how much of a presence a religion had amongst a people, but in his own world, he remembered very well such prejudices...

Until he burned the Vatican down, of course.

The train pulled into the station with a low hiss. He, surrounded by ten of the KingsGuard, turned in time to the carriage door opening to a sight he found welcome. "Oberyn!" He beamed and embraced the man. He then 'realized' where he was and pulled back with a blush.

Both Ellaria and he seemed amused by Harry 's rather boisterous welcome. "I am glad to see that my arrival is treated with such excitement." The man smiled roguishly. It was a smile that had charmed many into his bed. "I am also happy to note you look well."

"You haven't grown at all since I last saw you." Ellaria spoke from the man's side, and she and Harry shared a warm hug no less meaningful. "Shall we move on, then?"

Harry grinned. "Absolutely! Would you like to rest, or would a tour please you now?"

Oberyn shrugged, wrapping an arm around Ellaria. "I feel quite fine, and it has been years since I last was in Kings' Landing." He admitted, peering a bit over the railings and into the city beyond. "It's strange. It looks almost..." Here, he locked eyes with Harry. "bigger."

"I am certain that it is your time away that is speaking." Harry smoothly interceded. "Well, come along, then, chop, chop!" He turned to the KingsGuard, who now wore gobsmacked expressions on their faces. Understandable, he thought, because he never acted so carefree around them... ever. "We have no need of you lot, now, off you trot!"

Slightly dazed, the guards about-faced and marched away with as much dignity as they could muster.

"Is there a reason you're being particularly ... rambunctious ... today, or are you just happy to see us?" Ellaria asks, eyes full of mirth. "If I know you at all, it's one of the schemes you've devised on the spot, haven't you?"

Harry relaxed his wide grin into a less-painful-looking smirk. "Of course, my dear. You know me best, as usual." His eyes slide over to Oberyn, meeting his gaze. "I see your man is just as slow as he always is."

"You like it when I'm slow." Oberyn pointed out.

"That's usually in bed." Harry shoots back. "Speaking of which, how is Doran?"

"He is very much happy not to be in the same city as you." Oberyn answers, rolling his eyes. "Being 'as far away from the center of the chaos', he calls it. But otherwise, he is in much better health overall. Your treatment has seen him quickly improve."

"It is thanks to my genius." Harry says imperiously.

"It was my suggestion that you attempt to recreate the Phoenix tears from your world a few days ago, Harry." Ellaria deadpans.

"Well, are we going on that tour or not?" Harry asks in way of answer and sighs before getting between the two and linking their arms with his own. "Oh, the things I do for amusement."

"I feel like we are gallant knights walking back home from a session of giant-slaying." Oberyn scowls.

"Hush, dear. Just watch the faces." Harry grinned. "I am known for my composure here. Now that I actually have an excuse to break it that won't be deeply scrutinized, I can delight in seeing the fruits of my hard labor."

"Hard indeed." Ellaria comments running her hand down his arm. "I look forward to... retiring... after the tour."

Harry just winked at her.

The changes that he had brought about in King's Landing were far more noticeable to those who hadn't been there since he came to power. Both his guests found themselves noting the changes even though they were previously informed by Harry of them. He also showed them the complete building and gathered their approval of the idea. They decided to meet with Doran back in Dorne at a later date to negotiate the creation of such structures in their own city and well-assured him that the representatives sent by the Lords and Ladies would definitely be impressed. 

"They would be fools not to be." Ellaria said, tossing herself backward at last on a soft bed in their assigned guest quarters at the castle. "Have you decided which hold you will use to make your... point?"

"The Vale would be a sound choice." Oberyn spoke, falling right next to his love. "I hear Jon Arynn 's wife has succumbed to madness."

"She will be dealt with, yes." Harry mused. "But I am partial to the Riverlands, myself. I divined something... an event that would occur were I not to exist. I find it hard to forgive someone violating the sacred guest right of hospitality like cowards." He snorted, turning to stare out of his window. "Even at the behest of others... it was their decision."

"I told you before as I tell you now, I do not like you witnessing this... this alternate time when you did not exist." Ellaria shuddered. "I was hard-pressed to allow Oberyn to come here after you said he faced his death in this very palace."

"‘Allow me'?" Oberyn grumbled. "Nothing can harm me, my love."

"It is this very confidence that had seen you slain by Clegane." Ellaria reminded him. "While what he glimpses is almost from a different world entirely, it did happen."

Oberyn said nothing save for growling a bit at the name of one of his most hated.

"So, the Riverlands, it is." Harry says, bringing his hand up to stroke his chin. "I wonder how the good Lady Stark would react if she knew she would have met her end in her own family's lands were I not to be born?"

"You kept them."

Harry froze and looked to his fingers. Of course, he forgot to remove the rings. Wonderful. "As gifts from two treasured friends, yes." He answered slowly, turning to stare at said people, whose rapt attention he now had. "Do not read too much into it."

Oberyn just looked at him.

"That can't be all." Ellaria spoke with confidence. "Do you not remember your words?"

"I do remember them." Harry bit out. "But there are new pieces in the game I haven't told you about; people who ... I just cannot bring myself to-"

"Who?" Oberyn interrupted, standing and nearing the prince of another land. "Who is it?"

"My love?" Ellaria asked, uncertain from the bed as she watched the staring match Harry and her paramour had devolved into.

"He has found him. Or her." Oberyn absently corrected. "But we both know he'd rather prefer it if it were a him."

"Oberyn!" Ellaria hissed. "Be thankful your daughters decided not to accompany us. Were they here-"

"Why is it that whoever I love is taken from me?" Oberyn muttered, covering his eyes with his palms. "He found them, Ellaria. The improbable has happened."

That gave cause for Ellaria to still as well, looking with wide eyes at an uncharacteristically repentant Hadrian. "You found your soulmate?"

"I warned you that something of the sort will happen." Harry said plainly. "Meeting you two here, in this world, was strange enough. I warned you that there would always be the possibility -"

"Don't lay this on us." Oberyn hissed. "It was your choice to make your presence known that night, as it was your choice to lay with us! You do not have the right to stand there as speak along those lines!"

Harry was overcome with true regret. "I did not know." He whispered, nearing Oberyn to take his hands in his own, laying one against the other man's cheek. "I would not have dared to take your hearts if I knew."

Oberyn recoiled from the touch as if it burned him. "I don't know what game you're playing now, Hadrian." He hissed, retreating to the bed. "How can you expect me to believe when you already have told us your lies and truths so openly?"

"I wouldn't lie to you so easily, not over something so important." Harry answers, fidgeting with the sun ring. "Does this really change anything? I will still lay-"

"It isn't about the sex, Harry!" Oberyn bit out, perhaps a bit too loudly. The former did not hesitate in whipping out his wand and placing a silencing spell on their room. "We want not your body, but your heart! Did you not say, in your previous life, we would have been perfect for each other?!"

"I am not the one who decides these things." Harry pleaded. "I did not wake up one day and tell myself, 'Oh, I will now completely ditch my possible past-life soulmates for a shiny new one! Oh, look, there's even a discount!'” he fisted his hair as he turned to Ellaria. “This was completely out of my control, and you know it!"

"He is right, my love." Ellaria whispered, locking eyes with Harry as she kneeled on the bed to pull her man down to wrap her hands around his shoulders from behind. "I am certain that it wasn't in his control – I daresay I would know the outcome were it so."

“That we know of." Oberyn mumbled.

"Perhaps... this is why." Ellaria mused, her tone was light although her eyes were teary. "If we cannot even trust him for his word, how are we to spend our lives in each other's company? Are we not supposed to understand him instinctually if we were truly meant to be?"

A pregnant silence followed her words. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and stood to walk to the lone Baratheon in the room.

"Give us this night then." She whispered, a small watery smile gracing her features as she tugged him to the bed. "If you are not to be ours for as long as we draw our breaths… lay with us this one time. Hold nothing back, let yourself lose. We will not lay with you again, no matter how much we wish so."

Harry chanced a glance at Oberyn, wondering why everything was the slightest bit blurry. Something in his face softened the other man's expression. When he turned back to kiss the blonde beauty that was Ellaria, he felt Oberyn 's own lips on his neck, and maybe that was why he did not notice when a tear slid down his cheek and a small shudder wracked his features.

After it all, when he rises from the bed, it's beyond midnight.

It's like an internal clock, he muses, making not a single slight disturbance as he works his way from under their arms and out, onto the hard floor.

He dresses as if he were a dead man, clothes barely on and mind leagues elsewhere. The moon is beautiful tonight, in its crescent goodness. Why is it almost always incomplete?

He shakes his mind to clear off the poetic thoughts and opens the window a little wider, jumping out barely a second later.

He's free.

For a just a few short seconds, he isn't Hadrian Baratheon, the subject of a god's lust, member of two soulmate bonds (one however incomplete and meant for another life), heir to the throne if he so wished.

No. He's just a boy falling to the ground from a great height.

Is it really the liberating, he wonders, slowing the happenings around him to a crawl with a flex of his mental power. He's slow too, physically, but the moment lasts far longer.

Is he really free while he falls?

The ground is so close. He could reach out and touch it if he so wished. But by the time his hands would raise by even a degree, he'd be dead.

And since he'd rather not be dead, he halts all momentum and displaces himself to the highest point - to the roof of King's Attic.

It's not cold, he thinks, drawing up his hands to pat his shoulders. It's not cold, but he's freezing. He wondered if he would know if snow fell if his eyes were closed.

Snow.

Jon.

How could he lay with another when Jon was out there, surely making his way towards King's Landing, eagerly waiting to have his arms around him again?

He flicks his hand and a blade materializes within.  It's sleek and polished, glinting in the moonlight like the rivers that flowed in this archaic, suffocating land.

With a slash, his blood flows. Within a second, the wound seals itself shut.

He has most definitely converted himself beyond being human with his rituals, and it shows. A tear falls from over his eyelid for the millionth time today. Sleeping with Oberyn and Ellaria was just as pleasurable as it had been that night, but it lacked the spark it had when he first met them all those months ago – when he knew that, in his other life, he had other possible soulmates besides Viktor Krum.

They had just been a world away.

He thinks of Robert, then. He wonders if he'll ever let go of that man. Much like Tom, his father and he had a love-hate relationship. They both loved each other but hated their circumstances enough that it bled into their bond.

He sobs, heavy, quick, and only once. He can't break. It is not a matter of stubbornness, but simple fact – he can't raise an entire civilization while being a broken man, he just can't. But he knows that hiding this all behind a wall of Occlumency will just harm him further.

Everyone who was awake at the time, all heard a single cry of supreme anguish. It came from a boy who only wanted to live but was never told how. Did he deserve the hole he had dug for himself? Was there anyone to save him from it?

No one knew who screamed but there were no more heart-wrenching cries that night.

The world continued on, but for the person who cried, it seemed to be frozen in a single instance. But then again, he was the only one who could help himself. There were no heroes in the real world, he had learned in another life – it was only up to the person in pain to help himself or herself. People could intervene, yes, but without the willingness to do better and to improve one’s condition… all effort was moot.

So, Hadrian wiped his tears and stared determinedly at the city before him. A wave of his hand brought forward a conjuration diagram done in blazing writing in the air, and he tweaked the parameters adequately until his goal was held between his fingers. A simple thought had set it alight.

He would be his own hero. Fuck everything else.

He let his magic run free, snaking through the corridors of the keep and eventually finding his target. With a twist in the spot, he displaced himself to his brother’s room, for he was still awake, it seemed.

"Joffrey." He greeted.

The crowned prince looked up from his work to regard his brother with a scrutinizing gaze. It wasn't unexpected, after all, it was barely more than three days ago when they had their disastrous confrontation. Harry simply pulled in a long puff of smoke from his conjured cigarette, at first. He did miss the cute little poison-sticks. Having a smoke seemed to have its regular calming effect, and it really helped him firm his resolve for making up with his sibling. He offered it to his brother. "Would you like to try? I only just reconstructed it from memory. While normally it causes several ill effects and terminal diseases, I managed to tweak… its existence, for a lack of better term, for it to exist and be used without any of the damage, I assure you."

Joffrey regarded Hadrian with a long, guarded gaze before he finally opened up and a moment of clear vulnerability flashed across his features. "I suppose I could try." He sighed and set his quill down to take the proffered treasure. He breathed deeply... and then went into a coughing fit. "Merlin... what is this...?!"

Harry, more than pleased that his brother swore as he thought him to, waved his hand to cast the bronchus-opening **_Anapneo_** spell. "It was called a cigarette. The chemically treated shavings within send a chemical called nicotine into your body when smoked. It... eases oneself."

Joffrey looked at him, then back at the once-cancer-stick in his hand and frowned. "It tastes horrible."

"I reconstructed it from memory." Harry reminded him. "There are other flavors, but they pale the effects a bit. It tastes the same as the originals did back then, but perhaps this one is just a tad bit bitter.” His brother was unaware of the finer things in life, given that he was almost positive cigars already existed here. He promised himself to introduce his brother to the other drugs in his previous mortal world himself. "Try again. Gather the smoke in your mouth first, then try opening it and inhaling deeply. That's how I did it the first few times."

Joffrey gave his brother a playful betrayed look, easily falling into past banter and doing as asked. When he exhaled this time, it was less strenuous, and he seemed greatly surprised. "It's pleasant. Almost impossibly so. How…?"

Harry beamed. "This is a common custom in my previous life. I plan to market packets of these cigarettes to the people to have some ‘visible’ source of funds. They're rather addictive, too, which should ensure that we never find ourselves out of a market for them." He murmured, giving his brother a sidelong glance. "Do you like it?"

"I would pay a heavy ransom for more of these." He admitted, then offered his brother a smirk. "I suppose, though, that being close to the manufacturer would a sure me a discount?"

"I will teach you the spell to craft them." Harry nodded, a pleased smile on his face. He'd work the conjuration into a fixed spell later; what mattered was the progress with his brother. "Will you forgive me now?"

"Perhaps." Joffrey allowed, frowning. "If you will tell me everything.  Front the start. Without omission."

So, Harry did as he asked. He told him of Jon. He told him of R'hllor. He told him of everything under the sun itself of what his plans had borne fruit and every single way in which the gears of the Terran Empire could possibly turn. He only then realized that perhaps sharing is, in fact, caring – with every secret he shared, he felt himself growing a little lighter.

Joffrey frowned through it all, but he had picked up an agreement with his brushing-past Legillimency. "If you would have told me of this before..." He began but soon clenched his hand around his goblet, causing the metal to groan as it was squeezed with ritually-enhanced strength. “Perhaps I would have helped you. Perhaps… father would not have to die"

"I loved him." Harry freely admitted. "I loved Robert beyond even which our mother could, although of this I am not as certain as I once was. I see her anguish too. I find no joy in knowing that I killed him but… Ah, blast it! I would not see him die if I could change the road we traveled by… but even with Time-Turners, it I impossible. Even I am not infallible but… I just… my Occlumency..."

"Has never been the best, I am aware." Joffrey growled. "If only I had a shot at this Severus who taught you..."

"I need no retribution in my name, brother." Harry said, clasping Joffrey's shoulder. "I only wished to convey my regret. It was never my intention to see Robert dead, of this I give you my word. I only need your forgiveness and would welcome support in my… no. I would be overwhelmingly glad to see your support in our plans forward."

His brother's eyes lit up with an unholy gleam. "Of course.  I still have sworn fealty to your… to our cause." He sighed. "Even though I admit I miss my father, I am certain I would miss you more. I regret nothing, but I will pledge myself to your cause."

Harry could not be sure of his brother's intentions at that moment, because something was blocking him off. This itself was suspicious – if Joffrey had nothing to hide, why was he closing his mind off from his brother’s perusal? Even a fool could tell that Joffrey w deeply affected by what Harry could say was him breaking a promise he had made no light of… would this blind trust he was placed in his brother return to harm him later? But still, he gambled and took a chance; he couldn't control everything no matter how hard he tried, after all, and under all the schemes and plots on his mind, he still loved his brother dearly. "You do not know how much this means to me." He breathed, embracing his only old-enough sibling. And indeed, after the encounter with Oberyn and his beloved, he was greatly unburdened to see his brother back in his arms.

Joffrey smiled with a sadistic got behind his brother's back, although this went unseen by Hadrian himself. "Indeed." He breathed. "I will always love you, brother."


	8. Episode 8.1: Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not as invulnerable as one may believe.
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 moons, 16 days

Harry rubbed his eyes as he made his way through the corridors of the Red Keep at night. He needed sleep too, no matter the alterations to his self at his own hand, but he could stave it off for a while longer.

A flick of his hand revealed it to be well past 0200. He'd chosen King's  Landing as the Greenwich of this world, if only because it made it easier to tell time. Since a the denizens of this world measured their version of a 'month' by lunar cycles, calibrating the geas when he did had been far easier than it had been for whoever did it back in his own world. He absently wondered why people back there  were strange with quantities.... the American system of measurement was beyond strange... and the Wizarding currency rates were just plain weird. 

He rubbed his eyes as he quietly opened the door to Myrcella's nursery as quietly as he could. Thanfully, the babe was fast asleep. His slightly-bleary eyes wandered around the place. It was done in traditional girl colors,  pink and white,  with splotches of gold and red mixed in. It was strange, since he knew the babe was truly Robert 's and his mother's. Well... Lannister colors were fine too.

He tiptoed  over to the crib and smiled fondly at the babe within. She had Robert's hair for sure,  but her face was more akin to her mother's. Still, there were hints of Baratheon  in there enough that his heart lurched the tiniest bit.

He shook his head. Robert was dead. Dead and gone. Layering his presence over Myrcella  and hating her for it was wrong. 

But if he was having trouble separating the two mentally... how was his mother managing? 

Come to think of it, when was the last time he saw the two together?

He closed his eyes against the unfairness  of it all. It was only fitting that he have a dysfunctional family here too, right? Hadrian did not deserve good things. 

His eyes snapped open at the scratching sound.

He materialized a dagger and cast his gaze about. The room was as still as an undisturbed pond, but he was sure he-

There it was again!

His eyes were able to pinpoint the source easily enough - they zeroed in on a stuffed toy a few feet away from the crib easily. He crept forward cautiously, grabbed it, and displaced himself to his workshop.

Deeming it safe enough, he ripped the toy open and was forced to duck to dodgevthe projectile that almost shot free.

A manticore. 

His eyes widened as he realized how close his sister - his baby sister who hadn't even said her first word yet - was to death.

A clenching of his fist crushed the fierce creature without much fanfare, but his anger had not abated.

He was furious.

He displaced himself to King's Attic and checked the roster present on the base floor for the agent assigned as protection to his sister's room, and was surprised to note it was Fiona. She was one of his best sensors, but lacked combat readiness - well, as lacking as one could be in that department as a part of the KingsBlade. 

He snapped his fingers into the empty air swiftly. "Bring me Fiona."

Silence.

The 'Bring Me' comand  was something he had ingrained into each and every member of the KingsBlade - it allowed him to displace any member to his location immediately.

It was strange, then, that no one appeared.

"Bring me Fiona." He tried again, but there was no change. He was still alone.

He sounds in his heel and displaced himself to the roof of King's  Attic and clapped his hand once. He was partly relieved to see Herenn  and Olyvar appear before him again. 

"My lord?" Herenn asked, voice curious. "We have no scheduled-"

"Where is Fiona?" Harry interrupted her, his patience thin. "Do you know what I just found?"

His two followers tensed.

"There was a manticore in my sister's room." He offered through grit teeth. "I want to know how it slipped past her notice when it took me only ten seconds in there to realize its  presence. Where. Is. Fiona?"

"We shall search for her at once, my lord." Olyvar hastily said. And rightly so, Herenn  thought. Their Lord valued his family above all else, perhaps even himself.

Fiona was in for a very bad night. 

 

*

 

"We have found her, my lord."

It was dawn. The red light that the sun shone upon the world was most prominent through the stained glass windows of his workshop. Harry looked up from his work with a chilling smile. He preferred to distract himself when angry so as to not destroy the city he was in. At the moment, he was just putting the finishing touches on a gun/sword hybrid design he had seen in one of the 'videogames' from his own world. It was in interesting project, to say the least. "Well, bring her to me."

Herenn,  who was unanimously voted to bring forth the news, shivered in her boots. She may have been trusted enough to be given the position of Master of Whispers on the Small Council (a front, of course - her lord would always command the KingsBlade  no matter who took the throne), but she really did not want to be the messenger in this case. "We have found her dead body, my lord."

For a moment, Harry was still. His eyes bored into her bowed head. "I don't believe I heard you correctly. You said... dead body...?"

Herenn's  gulp was audible. "Yes, my lord. Her body is in the Attic now-"

Harry didn't wait for her to finish and displaced himself tosaid place immediately. It wasn't hard to find her - she lay on the ground in the center,  surrounded by her brothers and sisters in arms, or at least while she was alive, they were.

Harry, for one, could not believe it. The KingsBlade were amazing combatants and magic users. They were on the level of Hitwizards  back on his own home. If not direct command of magic, then they excelled in imbuing their combat with the energy, and if not even that, they were masters of concealing themselves! The only person who could find one of his if they did not wish it so was another mage!

It couldn't be one of his that did the deed. Along with loyalty to himself, he had also made it impossible for them to betray one another. He walked unsure over to the body, and the crowd around it parted for him by a wide margin. He knelt down to cast diagnosing charms and observe. His face grew pale when he was informed of the cause of death.

An Avada Kedavra. 

"When was the last time anyone saw her?" He asked the room at large, almost mechanically changing her position so she lay straight, with her hands crossed on her chest in front of her. 

"It was this afternoon, my lord." Maric answered, voice solemn. He was closest to Fiona. "When she returned from her patrol."

Harry waved his hand over the body again. The Time of Death showed as the day before.

He gulped. There was someone actively using magic to infiltrate his ranks... as his eyes crossed over each and every one of those gathered, they hardened with resolve. He would find he or she who hand murdered his child, and make them pay.


	9. Episode 8.2: Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumination
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 moons, 18 days.

Hadrian finished the final touches to the building with an ease that spoke of practice. It was the only way to get his mind off the fact that he had been completely unable to track the leak. Whoever it was who murdered his follower had left no trace, and the magical signature was too old to uniquely identify. As it was, it was a miracle that he could identify the cause of the death in the first place yesterday.

Since then, he had been occupied with various duties, but the KingsBlade were on high alert. He had, of course, checked to verify that every member was who they said they were. The next step he took was to examine the collective written work he had meticulously jotted down to ensure magic never vanished from the world even if he were to pass on (unlikely, but he never did take half-measures). The charms he placed on them to prevent oneself to copy them were broken. This itself was enough a cause for worry : he didn't think there was anyone powerful enough to nullify his work.

He reactivated the stasis charms with a frustrated flourish of his wand and displaced himself to his workshop. Running a hand through his hair, he turned to examine his latest endeavor.

Now that the plans for installing electric lamps were well underway thanks to Stannis' insistence,  he began to think further. Electronic home appliances had seemed the most logical step, but mechanized fittings also seemed plausible. Thus, he decided to finalize plans for a working toilet and a manual alarm system. He'd have to work on the city's plumbing later for the former to work at best effeciency, but that was the work of a night if he enlisted the help of the KingsBlade. He almost chuckled at the look Olyvar's visage would no doubt sport when he was informed of their next task. 

The alarms would help give a feeling of slow progress. While he could whip up CCTV cameras and televisions and computers easily, he felt that layering such progress on the shoulders of the mostly violence-oriented people of the Empire was unwise - he wanted them reliant on him, not launching into wars he did not sanction.

He worked on the blueprints for a while as his mind wandered. The first thing he did after leaning that his charms were nulled was to check Joffrey's memories. The boy was asleep, of course, but he was the only one with the knowledge and motive to betray his trust this way. He was confused when, instead, he found memories of a picture-perfect evening with the Monkey instead. His KingsBlade couldn't betray him in any form, so who else could it be? Melisandre  was still away and training, Sansa couldn't cast a spell to save her life...

He rolled his head to get that satisfying Crack that always eased him of his tension. Thinking in circles was going to get him nowhere. The damage was done, and his repertoire was out there in who knew whose hands and was currently being used. In fact, it was used quite close to home. As oblivious as he was to its occurrence,  he could have been attacked and he wouldn't be able to react in time. 

Nah.

But it was a problem. The Killing Curse did not require much magical potential - hence that even the lowest ranked Death Eater could pull it off in his world, but it did need a strong desire to simply kill; the wholehearted want to end a life. His magic... in the hands of someone like that in a world that was basically stuck in the middle ages...

He almost shuddered in excitement.

If the person who had his spells wanted him dead, it would have been at least attempted by now. No, this person wanted to send him a message. Myrcella was now safe behind his strongest wards, and even the Red Keep itself was now protected by some of his best schemes, better than before. How intriguing; he was only just wondering what next would come up so he could entertain himself.

It was the only reason he wasn't actively crafting a spell to track the culprit down.

His eyes hardened as he rolled up the plans across his table.

If another attempt were made on his family, though, all bets were off the table.


	10. Episode 8.3: Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could he forget?
> 
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 months, 18 days.

Harry rubbed his groggy eyes and sat up on his bed, yawning and stretching.

"Quite the sight, you make."

The figure who spoke was not the least but perturbed to find a few tens of sword pointed at his form immediately. When he was recognized however, he smirked at Harry's tired groan.

"R'hllor." He sighed. "Of course. So you're strong enough to talk to me on my dreams now?"

"You are something I just cannot seem to resist." The deity wearing Jaime's body offered, his eyes running across his prize's throat. "I see you sleep quite... liberated."

Harry offered him a dry look. "I need to sleep if I am to welcome the Lords and Ladies tomorrow with dignity. What is it that you want?"

"So impatient." The god hissed, absently flicking his hand to vanish the swords in fleeting sparks. "Remember who you speak to, my dear Hadrian, or you might just find yourself burned from the inside out."

"But you like my defiance,  don't you?" Harry offers a small smirk of his own, reaching out to run his fingers along the other's forearms. "I do recall certain remarks..."

"Quite." R'hllor allowed, smirk shifting into a wider grin. "It does entertain me so from my temporary prison to see the way you weave the future of this world..." He then made a point of sighing in dismay. "A pity that you will lose control of events soon enough."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"The ones who wield your magic summoned me." R'hllor said plainly,  causing Harry to still. "They attempted to command me. Me! I resisted their efforts and burned most of them to ash before they closed the link to this world on me, of course, but that is not the more vital of informations you should know."

"There is something that trumps that in importance?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised. "Do tell."

"I do not know how they did it, but for a single moment,  they were able to blur the lines between the dimensions." The god told him, face losing all humor. "You very well know the consequences of such an action. In this case, however, your fickle world was considerably fortunate. Only a small piece was exchanged, but oh, what a piece it is!"

"Are you going to make me ask?" Harry snorted, withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms. 

His chin was suddenly in a fiery grip that burned, but he did not show a flicker of emotion. "Beware, mine. This dream is of my making. If I so will it, you will never wake, and lay in unending agony. Your charm is only charming for so long, after all." The god hissed, squeezing once for good measure before releasing the other.

Harry worked his jaw a bit, but resolved then and there to control himself. A god's strength was unrivaled in dreams and visions of their making. R'hllor would be set much more behind after this, but for now, he was basically at the deity's mercy.

"Good. You know how to remain silent." The god mused. "The lands west, far beyond what was once the Drowned God's domain, have been overlaid with lands from another world. They bring with them raw magic - chaotic magic, from yet another dimension. I trust you will ensure my future kingdom is safe from harm...?"

"Oh, am I supposed to speak now?" Harry quipped, having valiantly held out under a few moments of a pointed stare from the Lord of Light. "Bravo." Inwardly, however, he wasn't feeling this confident. More magic in the world? He'd have to send his followers to inveterate immediately - it wouldn't do to be challenged in a field where he does not control all. 

"You are far more resistant than before." The god noted. "It will be amusing to break you when the time comes."

"I think you will find that it won't be so easy." Harry offered, narrowing his eyes. "I was once an immortal being with little to lose. I would like to think I have kept at least some virtues of mine from my last life."

R'hllor smirked and leaned even further to give his prize a searing kiss. "All the more fun for me." He grinned,  then made a show of raising his hand,  preparing to snap his fingers. "Then I guess we have little more to discuss. Wake up, little chimera."

SNAP


	11. Episode 8.4: Roundtable Rivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No violins at this face-off.  
> Age: 17 namedays, 11 moons, 25 days.

Bringing the Great Houses to the Red Keep itself was not an easy task, and not only because it took another day after his settling with Joffrey to bring the representatives together.

The difficulty of the matter was somewhat dimmed at the compromise of accepting representatives rather than the actual rulers of each of the seven realms. It was both a boom and a curse, however - while those gathered may have milder views towards the various feuds up and running, they also did not have the authority to immediately allow for any appeasements to settle disputes in the here and now. They would have to write back to their heads and await a reply. Harry decided to fast-track the development of the world as fast as he could in order to introduce things like computers and the Internet. 

The Council-room acquired a bigger table in order to seat all of its guests today. Oberyn looked around him grimly, seemingly sizing up his foes. Harry wondered what truly was going through the man's mind but refrained from actually checking.

Representing House Baratheon of the Stormlands was Stannis Baratheon himself. Since the meeting of minds for this matter was far more important, the Small Council was disbanded for a week - there was not much that had to be done anyway since the previous week had seen an increase in activity in order to free up slots here and now. Thus, the man was truly free of responsibility to the throne itself and could take objective action in concern to his lands.

Representing the Westerlands' Lannisters was Hadrian's grand-father himself, Tywin Lannister. If there was anyone at the table he was uncertain of, it was him - even after years of observing the man from the shadows, it was almost impossible to get a read on him without reading his mind. And... today was far too important to be lax in magic use.

Eddard Stark spoke for the Starks of the North. The man thought it best if he himself were to be present for the Landsmeet, considering he was one of the first supporters of Harry's plan, and had left his eldest son Robb (under the guidance of his wife, of course) to look after his property in his stead. Well... 'supporter' may have been too strong a term. 

It wasn't truly a surprise that it was deceased Jon's wife Lysa who spoke for the Arynn's. Due to the skill of the KingsBlade in making his death appear a suicide and imploring her to stay within King's Landing for her and her son Robynn 's safety, the Wan had not moved a step from her home. After this, Harry had little plans for her beyond death - her paranoia was slowly leading her to spoil her son, who she took to breastfeeding again in spite of his age and kept under house arrest in their mansion here in the city. And the boy would be easily malleable... although, come to think of it, a bit of magic could solve the problem in a pinch... but where would be the fun in that?

To represent the now-empty Iron Islands and the Riverlands under the rile of House Tully, the ruler Hoster had deemed fit to send his son, Edmure. Of what was known of the man, he was well-meaning, but often impetuous and proud, with a mouth that could get him into trouble at times. He was currently looking a little oddly at his sister, Lysa (which honestly was not very surprising, considering the word of her that was spread around town), indicating that they had not yet had time to talk... or had purposely avoided doing so.

And finally, House Tyrell was being represented by the monkey herself. Harry never did understand why Margaery was complimented for either her beauty or her brains, but to each his own, he guessed.

He himself stood behind his mother, who sat in a slightly more ornate chair than the others. KingsGuard members were posted all around the room, but Eddard’s eyes kept darting to the ceiling. Harry smirked, it would be impossible for a normal human to spot them.

The room remained deathly silent. Here, in this chamber, the something historic was going to happen, and perhaps all of its inhabitants could feel it.

Deeming it time enough to start, Harry hoisted a stack of rolled up parchments and began distributing them to the occupants. Whoever accepted the scroll did make eye-contact with him, and he was easily able to cast a compulsion to be more... amenable... to the proceedings. Almost at once, however, he could sense both Edmure and Lysa were going to be minor inconveniences.

He made the round swiftly and then clapped his hand sharply. The KingsGuard immediately proceeded to leave, closing the curtains and drawing the doors closed behind them. As they did this, Harry himself lit candles all around the area. Unknown to the others present, the moment that the door closed, wards went up that prevented a leak in privacy. 

It was only then that they all took their seats, save for his mother. Some courtesy had to be shown, after all, and she was all about reminding others of their place. Harry had simply smirked when it happened naturally since everyone knew her temperament.

He returned to his position with a smile that seemed oh-so-innocent in the candlelight. "I would like to thank your families for sending you on such short notice, Lords, and Ladies." He began, inclining his head in a show of small respect, that his mother rolled her eyes at. "Now that we are here, let the first recorded Landsmeet after the rule of my father, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, begin."

**Author's Note:**

> If this seems badly written - it kinda is.  
> I've realised that I run out of steam a lot when my most pictured scene or battle in a story comes to be written. It was like this with the Akatsuki fight in Chains of Woe and the Uzumaki vault scene in IfWishesWereHorses. So I've decided to write whatever comes to mind whenever it does on my phone, and edit it to make it more coherent when I feel like it. Kindly judge the quality of my work by my other fics, ty.  
> PS. Cleaned up to Chapter 7 end.


End file.
